


Greater than the Sum

by de-anon (Afflitto)



Series: Greater than the Sum [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia, M/M, Multi, Prumano - Freeform, steamtalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 135,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/de-anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a disgraced soldier strikes an unlikely friendship with a thief, he realizes that there’s something strange about his acquaintance--and that might be why bounty hunters are after him. However, as Gilbert begins unraveling the mystery locked within Lovino's lost memories, he uncovers a sinister plot to put an end to the world as they know it...and Lovino is the key. Steampunk Hetalia AU.  FINISHED!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of thieves and whores

**Author's Note:**

> Human names used as this is an AU. Expect updates every week or so depending on what my schedule allows. In the meantime, enjoy! More characters introduced as the story unfolds, but I hope to include a large amount of the Hetalia cast bit by bit. (: Let me know what you think?
> 
> Eventual Gerita and Prumano. Probably other side pairings

If the industrious city of Rüs was the backbone to the Three Regions, then Illus square was its elusive mistress, tucked deep within its heart yet operating to a tempo of its own. Here the poor abounded in little shops nestled within streets, or traveled winding alleyways caught deep within the folds of her skirt.  The rich slinked in, disguised, for just a peek, knowing full well that they did not belong but yearning for her services all the same. She was a jolt of colour in the midst of grey factories belching smog into hazy skies, a spark of life to dull people plodding off to work amid the heat and monotony among dangerous machinery--shoveling coal, tinkering parts, placing gears. Sure the rich held their parties in the cleaner areas of town, but nothing could compare to the chaotic vitality that throbbed through Illus.

Gilbert Beilschmidt cut through Illus Square whenever he could, weaving his way through the cramped corridors between buildings and wading through piles of trash to emerge in a throng of people. He'd usually peek in and among the shops, inhaling pungent spices and sweet fragrances, stopping by a bakery so that the aroma of baking bread could warm him to his core. It was never cold in Illus—the bubble of heat churned by factories staved off winter—but the smog choked out the sunlight on the days that the wind struggled to huff away its thick, lingering presence.

He pulled his trench closer around his body, hand digging into the pocket to close around the cold metal of his watch. Too long had they felt empty, even after deliveries and the meager salary that rich old women took to paying him for fixed jewelry and stupid trinkets. Maybe he'd dreamed of something more substantial when he settled down in this town a few months ago. But here he was in a borrowed grey coat—double breasted wool—buttons no longer shining, fabric thinning at the elbows. He kept dark pants pressed and tucked into lace-up boots, but no amount of polishing could make them gleam again or erase scars from old journeys. A burnished iron cross hanging from his neck lay close to his heart, buried beneath his clothes.

Beggars can't be choosers, Gilbert decided. A woman across the street tried to catch his eye, but Gilbert noticed a thick torsoed, muscular man watching from a nearby alleyway. Pimps and prostitutes. Prostitutes and pimps. To survive in Rüs you had to find your shackles somewhere. To some it was to work, to others it was to pimps. To Gilbert it was to his loneliness.

He lowered his eyes and shook his head. The girls made an unspoken contract through captured gaze and were always on the prowl, standing idly at street corners in tattered skirts, hardly breathing for the corsets cutting into their waists. Gilbert was tempted, yes, but he knew better than to grow captivated by oily locks and batting eyes. In the end it was all meaningless and left his pockets and his heart even emptier than before. And he especially had no money to spare.

"You're interested in those girls, yes?"

Gilbert jumped back, nearly stumbling from the curb. He had not realized that anyone had lingered so close, and he chided himself for letting his guard down. Pickpockets abounded in this town, and Gilbert still had one last bracelet to deliver to a woman just beyond the square.

"I wasn't looking," he answered coolly. He tugged his coat more tightly about himself, glancing longwise over at the man who had spoken.

He didn't seem the type normally known for pimping in this city. No slicked, greased back hair, expensive rings, or thick layered clothes. He was just a middle-aged merchant with a receding hair-line and more than an ample waistline challenging the grip of his waistcoat, especially when he chuckled. "You've looked before. "

Gilbert blinked. "Most people do." He began to skim the street, looking for a passage among steam-powered motor cars to allow him to cross.

"But you particularly," the man insisted. "Your pale-ass skin and white hair stand out more than most." He shifted closer, an umbrella sliding from the side of his coat, tip digging into the toe of Gil's shoe before he could take a step. "I can get you in for free."

"I've learned to disregard what seems too good to be true," Gilbert growled, hitting him with the full intensity of jaded, red eyes. "Or trust people making extravagant promises." He kicked the umbrella aside and scoffed. "Promises are worth less than lies."

"You were a soldier," he stated. He chuckled again when Gilbert stiffened. "I can tell by the way you carry yourself."

"Were?" Gilbert said.

"The shame in your eyes suggests a 'were'," he said.

Gilbert shivered but shook his head, suddenly wary. For a moment his vision wavered, and he was sure the man flickered from view. But, blinking, he reassured himself that he had not moved and was as solid as ever. "Quite the trick you're playing. I'm not interested."

"I don't need the affirmation of trust, so your actions from this point are your own business," he said. "But the door down that alleyway—" he pointed with one gloved hand, a loop of chain from a watch concealed in his ragged sleeve dangling into the free space—"is usually unlocked." He dipped his head once. The chain glinted. "Perhaps there is something to be gained from straying from your rigid routine. A man without a purpose is hardly a man at all." The man dropped his hand and he waddled off, a steady stream of automobiles and people engulfing him.

"Fuck, tell me I didn't just hallucinate that," Gilbert said, putting a hand to his head. His eyes flitted to the alleyway in question then back to the street he'd been trying to cross. The road he needed to take to find his next delivery wound off into the Ara district where he usually met cold stares at his ragtag clothes and the general disapproval by pompous, "clean" society. His eyes returned to the alleyway again.

"I bet there isn't even a door," Gilbert said. He took a step forward but turned back and looped carefully over toward the darkened path, avoiding the women on the street corner. Eyes narrowed, he slipped into the shadow and felt along the wall. Worst-case scenario was that he'd be ambushed deep inside, lured in by his own stupidity. But Gilbert had his fingertips curled around the handle of his dagger and his wits about him, ears delving deeper into the darkness than his eyes could. He heard nothing but the drip of water and the rustle of rats through garbage.

His hand bumped into the cool iron of a handle, and his fingers wrapped around the lever like a trigger. He hesitated, shaking his head, and squeezed it. The door moved only half an inch, but would not budge until Gilbert threw his whole weight back and heaved hard enough to scrape a track into the grime caked on the ground. Immediately his nose was assaulted by ginger. The nape of his neck prickled at the slap of a leather whip.

"This is definitely off the beaten path…" Gilbert muttered. He double-checked to make sure the merchant was nowhere in sight before slipping through, then pulled the door shut behind him.

Gilbert had been in all manner of whorehouses in his past, most when he had the run of conquered towns in his days as a soldier. This house was no different. Velvet black lined the walls in swooping folds. Rotting doors granted little privacy to harsh moans and the slap of skin. Darkness clung to the soft pulse of overhead chandeliers. Overall it was a dank place, but whores and the men who requested them preferred the dark, because light had a habit of penetrating into exposed places and revealing the deepest, darkest corners of a man's soul.

The tread of shoes on carpet alerted Gilbert to the shadow of a man emerging from behind a corner. He hesitated then dove for the first door he saw, half expecting to interrupt two people mid-fuck. Nothing.

He took a deep breath and carefully eased the door shut, slipping into the shadow just outside the bar of dull light wedged under the entryway.

Several seconds dragged by. Gilbert strained his ears for the scuff of shoes but caught only the moans from a room next door. Still he waited, taking even breaths, heart barely quickening, until he was sure enough time had passed. He reached for the door.

"The hell are you doing in here."

A flame erupted toward Gil's right with a scrape of a match. The fingers of light only reached the bottom half of the holder's face, where Gilbert could only really make out a pointed chin, an annoyed frown, and the occasional flash of shadow from beneath a delicate nose. Gilbert judged his assailant as a male, a few inches shorter than him, but lithe from a glimpse of his wrist and hand.

"I could be asking you the same, slinking about in the dark." He edged closer to the door but kept an eye on the other. "The hell kind of whore are you?"

"Whore?! I'm no fucking whore, you bastard! Come near me and I'll bite your hand off!"

"Well you're in a whorehouse," Gilbert said.

"S-so are you!" The flame steadily ate at the short matchstick, wandering closer to the other's hand. He waved it out and his outline vanished. "Hey, maybe I'll let you off easy, which is better than what a bastard like you deserves. Give me your money and shit and I'll let you out of here without causing a ruckus. Trust me, if they catch you in here they'll chop your fucking midget dick off."

It was then that Gilbert heard the moan of a full grown man finally reaching consciousness a few feet away, followed by heavy, confused curses. The man yelped—presumably in response to a heavy thud—and went silent. The tread of footsteps marked the movement of the first unknown man back toward Gilbert.

"Wait a fucking second—"

" _You_  wait a fucking seco—"

Gil's hand tightened around the handle of his knife. "Yeah, you're right, you're not a fucking whore. You're a fucking thief, aren't you. That old man in the square is working for you, luring guys in here so you can rob them. Isn't that right, pipsqueak?"

"Pipsqueak? My name is Lovino, and so what. Yeah, I'll steal from whoever I want." He hesitated. "But what the fuck? A guy? Fuck you, don't call her a guy just because she's a fucking who—"

"The hell—?"

With the escalation of their argument, the hall filled with the dangerous growl of voices and the trod of heavy shoes.

"Fuck, see what you did—"

"What  _I_  did—"

A flurry of movement shot toward the albino and Gilbert's head crashed into the prickly carpet, just short of a discarded crumpled pillow. Footsteps cracked through the silence. Once. Twice. They paused, a shadow pooled by the crack beneath the door.

Lovino had thrown himself onto him, shoved his shoulders down, and then opened his legs to straddle his waist. He leaned in close, eyes gleaming with a plea for silence as they darted back and forth into the dim light. The shadow at the door did not move. The floorboards creaked with the shifting of weight.

Swallowing, the Italian cleaned in closer to Gilbert. They were wedged between the bed and the wall so tightly that Lovino could barely move and he was sure that his acquaintance could hardly breathe beneath him. Would this be enough to conceal the two, or would he have to take matters into his own hands? His lips grazed Gilbert's face, but his fingers worked to loosen the knife he'd seen in the albino's belt so he could slip it upwards.

"Shhh…" Lovino breathed into the albino's ear when the other squirmed. "You're the fucker who got us into this mess. You better not be the fucker who gets us both killed." His grip tightened around the brass handle, and he shivered at the chill of roughly carved metal.

Silence. Gilbert closed his eyes and willed his heart to stop struggling against the confines of his chest. Everything in him screamed to shove this kid off of him, to pry those filthy hands from his knife and maybe even shove him down a stairwell. He opened his eyes into a glower, but Lovino shook his head and kneed against him in silent warning.

Another few minutes.

Gilbert dared not breathe.

The shadow did not dissolve.

"Shit," Lovino murmured. His breath was hot against Gilbert's ear. He clutched at his shirt, straining, listening, praying. "They catch either of us here and we're fucked." He swallowed with some effort, but slowly sat up.

The man on the other side of the bed was still unconscious; hopefully he would not stir and start moaning again—though that might prove convincing. Perhaps it was too silent in the room, and that was the issue, though surely they realized that this room currently was not occupied by one of their whores. He gnawed on his lip. "Shitshitshit."

Why was that shadow still there? Why wouldn't they leave?

Already Lovino could feel the uncomfortable heat rise in his cheeks as his heart pounded ever faster. Cornered as they were in the room, they did not stand much a chance against armed guards, daggers or no. Maybe if he tripped the dumbass bastard and made a run for it, but…

He seized. The knob rattled. The door clicked open. A sliver of light slowly cut an expanding triangle into the darkness.

"Oh fuck it." Without a second thought, Lovino crashed his lips to Gilbert's, their teeth scraping and noses colliding, sparks of tension striking into a mass of panic, confusion, loathing, surprise. He kissed as hard as he could, back arching over him, supplying the exaggerated moans as his body writhed and hips rutted. He felt Gilbert tense beneath him. He tightened his hands around his wrists and hissed a silent warning. Gilbert froze. His eyes fluttered half closed, a ragged gasp escaping into Lovino's mouth. The light hesitated over their bodies then vanished with the click of the door.

Nothing.

The footsteps cracked down the old hall.

Neither dared move.

Lips still tangled with Gilbert's, knee caught in the fork of his legs, Lovino felt the tension of the room coil tighter and tighter. The man beneath him finally released a breath.

Another few seconds.

Something snapped.

Brain catching up with him, Gilbert shoved himself upright. His head knocked against Lovino's, just before his fist slammed into his jaw and sent him sprawling.

"W-what the actual hell was  _that._ "

Lovino groaned. The stars in his vision exploded light into the darkness but muddled the albino's words behind a thick blanket of confusion. He felt too warm. The carpet beneath his head and the weight of the darkness made no sense. "Ah fuck…" He felt a tight pull at his collar. Gilbert had hauled him upright. His feet dangled a few feet from the ground. Rapidly blinking, he tried to pull it together, gradually collecting his wits about him. "S-shit, you  _wanted_  them to catch you? Fucking shit, you don't get it. They catch me, it's over." He wiped at his eye but winced. A bruise was already forming across his cheek. " _Fuck."_

"You can't just fucking  _kiss_  someone, you fucking idiot!" Gilbert snarled. He shook him like a rag doll. "Maybe you deserve to be caught and castrated, ever think of that?"

Lovino gave a dry laugh and attempted to swallow. "You're…you're just mad because I kissed you and you liked it. Doesn't take" he took a few deep breaths—"Shit, put me down already. C-can't fucking…"-another gasp-"can't breathe."

Gilbert made as if to drop him, but flung him onto the bed so hard that his head hit the backboard and more stares exploded into his brain. His grip went lax around the dagger that he'd pilfered from Gilbert's belt, and the other snatched it back and dug the dull edge of the blade into his neck with a low snarl. "I've put up with a lot of shit in my lifetime, you little bastard, and I don't need you trying to fuck with me."

Lovino groaned again. "You think…I haven't—" He cursed silently to himself as he pushed himself back upright, and kneaded at the tender spot on his head, toes curling inwardly. "You think life hasn't fucked with me? How the hell do you think I get food to eat? You're just a stupidass who came in here and fell for it." He pressed himself further back to escape the cold bite of metal.

"Yeah well—"

The door exploded open so loudly that both yelped—Gilbert whirling around so fast that his dagger nicked Lovino's throat and sent droplets of blood splattering into the wall. Men poured in armed with an eclectic mix of weapons ranging from daggers to broadswords to the occasional rusty pistol, one directed between Gilbert's eyes.

The owner of the gun was a large man who wore finery that seemed ill-suited to his size, a well cut black waistcoat and a silk-black overcoat with brass buttons. The cloth seemed liable to rip under muscles so large they seemed to fuse to one another in great bulges. He was clean-shaven with a face like a baby plopped on a too-thick neck and hair that hung in dreads to his shoulders.

"Who the hell are you?" He spoke with a thick accent that ran his words together.

"No one important," Gilbert snarled. He squared his shoulders and rose to the balls of his feet, knuckles tightening around his dagger. Years of military experience taught him not to fear those larger to him, and already calculating eyes were seeking out a disadvantage. Perhaps his weight would be his downfall. Gilbert could easily duck under him and upset his balance if he rammed his shoulder low enough on his legs. The disturbance might also impede the other men, who would scramble from the chaos long enough for Gilbert to dart past the—

"I've heard that before. Get the hell out of here," the man said. He gestured toward the door with his gun, and watched with beady black eyes as Gilbert sidled past and slipped out.

The gun trailed over to Lovino who was staring at the open door with a look of betrayal.

"Shit…" Lovino muttered. His fingers were bloody from where he'd pressed them to his throat to stem the bleeding, but he hardly felt the pain for the fear surging through him. All he could see was the endless hole retreating into the gun, where the gunpowder would ignite the bullet that would finally take his life.

"We captured your little accomplice last night," the man murmured. His tongue slithered over every syllable. "She won't be seducing anyone anymore. As for you…" A smile nudged at his lips. "Well, you have to make up for all that you stole somehow, and I think I'll make you suffer a few long years before you die."

The barrel brushed his temple and a vice-like grip wrapped around his arm like it was nothing more than a stick. The man hauled the trembling thief upright and started toward the door. "But first, we have a bit of business with a knife, don't we."

A shudder ripped down Lovino's spine. His legs turned to jelly. The snickers of the guards around him were drowned in a dull roar—a static that crackled in his ears and the thundering of a heart struggling to escape the confines of his chest, racing faster and faster opposite of time that crashed to a halt and gave the air an unreal chill. He felt numb inside, as if scraped clean by raw panting and constricted lungs. Sweat dripped down clammy hands.

The fist around his arm wrenched him into a joining hallway past the screams of some whore and through an area clouded thick with smoke. The scuff of polished shoes on the carpets beat out a prolonged march that gave away to the drumbeats of heels on cold stone. The floor sloped downward in a gradient of warm to cool, then finally to cold as the last bit of cloying smoke finally dissipated.

The door that separated the hallway from the head boss's office was solid steel without a window, but three locks with little scratches at the keyholes, indication of Lovino's past intrusions. This time it opened from the inside, and a man with cappuccino skin seized Lovino by the collar and jerked him in. The door slammed behind him with a resounding thud. The room was empty save for a huge mahogany desk, two leather chairs, sneering oil lamps, and a leather whip coiled in the corner.

It was just Lovino, the dreadlocked man, the boss, and the knife that gleamed with ill intent.

"This is the kid who's been sneaking around?" The boss asked. He stepped forward, but not before snatching the whip and unwinding it slowly. "A bit of a scrawny little bastard, isn't he." A low chuckle thundered within his chest. "But I think it's time to expand our customer base anyway." He cracked the whip once against the wall.

Lovino winced.

A smile slithered across the boss's cheeks. "Hold him."

Two arms looped around Lovino's shoulders from behind, pulling him so tight against a muscular chest that pain shot up and down his arms. The tips of his toes barely skimmed the floor, but he strained against them to lessen the pressure.

The man stepped closer, absently winding the whip from wrist to wrist as he sneered. "You've undermined my little business for six months, you little bastard. Don't act like you don't deserve this. Operating within our brothel, putting us in a bad light by drugging valuable customers and stealing from them. Hell, I know you've been in this office a few times as well. Don't think I don't count the gold in my safe. Who taught you to pick locks, little bastard?"

Lovino grunted.

"Answer me!"

He cracked the whip, but this time it snapped up and tore into Lovino's shirt. Blood seeped through light fabric. The man holding him winced; the leather tongue had nicked his elbow.

"I taught myself," Lovino spat.

The boss rolled his eyes. "Well in addition to being the new fuckboy around here, you'll be using those skills for me. One wrong move, one little complaint, and you're fucking dead. Got it?"

Lovino felt his teeth clatter as he nodded.

"Good," the boss murmured. He picked up his knife and ran the blade over the candle until it was hot, the rubies on the hilt glowering sinister red. "Hold still, this will only hurt a little."

"Fuckfuckfuckpleasenopleasedo n'tfuckin—"

He felt fingers pry at the zipper on his baggy pants. Could feel the burn of heated metal at his skin. Tears squeezed from eyes screwed tightly shut amidst fear and useless struggling.

Two things happened at once. The grip around him slackened with a sharp jolt and the knife clattered to the floor as the man holding Lovino toppled forward into the boss, leaving only a small window of time for Lovino to duck out of the way. He landed on his hands and knees and scrambled for the door, right into a pair of scuffed boots.

"Get up, you bastard," the Gilbert said. When Lovino did not respond, he reached down and pulled him upright by the wrist, ignoring the gasp of pain from previously bruised skin. "Zip your damn pants and let's get the fuck out of here, before that bastard over there figures out what the hell happened."

Staring blankly at Gilbert, Lovino did as he told, then found himself slammed back into reality with a sudden sharpening of senses when the boss groaned and began pushing his unconscious henchman from on top of him.

"Run," Gilbert urged.

They pushed through hallway after hallway, taking sharp turns and shoving off of walls to keep their course. They could hear the boss thundering behind them, screaming at his men to join the pursuit, until it seemed like a stampede behind them—an entire pack of screaming and cursing men squeezing through the hallways, tripping over one another.

"Shit," Gilbert gasped, chancing a look back. They had a decent lead, but the convoluted nature of the underground portion of the brothel threatened dead-ends and locked doors.

Lovino pulled slightly ahead, shorter legs somehow matching Gilbert's strides. "Follow me. I know this place really well." Rather than waiting for an answer, he assumed the lead and took them on a path that sloped upward, until the clicking of shoes gave way to the hiss of carpet, and smoke choked the air from their lungs. Coughing, they emerged into the dim hallways.

"Watch out," Lovino gasped. Barely circumventing a woman limping across the hall and the man trailing after her, he snatched the newsboy cap from his head midstride, snickering. Gilbert burst past them less gracefully, shoving the man down and nearly tripping over the woman, though with some flailing he regained his balance and made it to the door that Lovino shoved open.

Dark night greeted them with a sudden chill that was like a blow to their stomachs, forcing the air from their lungs. Gasping, they stumbled and slipped through the grime in the alleyway, tripping over bags of trash and scraping knuckles on brick walls til they tumbled from the narrow passageway into roaring streets.

Not perturbed by need for sleep, cars spewed smog and commotion into the bubble of night past wanders and whores still waiting for a lay. Gilbert and Lovino disappeared into the chaos, moving quickly but stealthily, keeping an eye over their shoulders.

"This way," Lovino whispered. He tugged Gilbert down one of many alleyways feeding into the square, and out towards where the marketplace sat abandoned for the night, booths left bare under canvas cloths.

Shouting.

Screaming.

Rustling in the alleyway.

They wouldn't cross the square quickly enough to avoid detection-

Drawing in a sharp breath, Lovino dragged Gilbert down behind one of the market stalls and, getting down on his hands and knees, burrowed down into the space beneath. The albino scrambled in after him.

Heavy foot falls.

Harsh breathing.

"I could have sworn I saw them go down this way," one voice snarled.

An uneasy tremor shook Lovino's body and he pressed himself closer the nearest source of warmth—Gilbert's chest-and curled up into himself. A shadow seeped through the rotting wood that served as a pathetic barrier between the two criminals and a man who wandered the aisles, dragging his pistol behind him.

Step by step, he walked painstakingly slow, shoes hollow on cobblestone. He walked and waited. One step, three seconds wait, independent of the men tearing through stall after stall, as if listening for the frantic breathing of his prey.

Gilbert drew Lovino in closer to him, like a father sheltering his child, willing him to calm the erratic beat of his heart. But it was no good. The thief's shallow breaths betrayed terror that constricted his pupils and drenched dark curls in sweat. He was not only shaking, but gnawing on his lips to the point that they bled, fists clenched, tendons bulging with the tension of locked muscles.

"Calm the fuck down," Gilbert mouthed into his hair. For this moment, he didn't mind the musky stench of sweat and poverty; he even dared run his fingers through thick curls, scratching at his scalp until his muscles finally slackened. His voice was soft but business-like. He did not coddle.

The scrape of the pistol tore through the silence. The men had circled the marketplace, and were loitering around Lovino's booth. Their shadows mottled the moonlight, and for a moment, Lovino feared that the slits and holes in the feeble walls revealed all, like a beacon screaming  _look at me. Look at what I'm hiding._

The man who spoke had a faint eastern tinge to his voice. He leaned against his pistol. "They must have slipped into one of the joining alleyways. We'll just alert our men around this region to look for a little bastard with a curl and an albino. They stick out." He lifted the gun and slung it over his shoulder. "Til then, we'll question the little bitch who was working with them. If she can even still talk"—he chuckled—"she'll know where the short little bastard stays at night. We'll get him. You'll see."

It was like the seeping of the tide from the sand when the man gradually drained from the square, until the night was quieter than before. Even when the two crawled from the booth, still shaking, they could no longer hear the cars clogging the streets or feel the bite of cold air wrapping around sweat-soaked limbs.

Gilbert's voice sounded hollow. "Let's…let's…we can't stick around outside. Let's go to my house."


	2. A Thief and a Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert and Lovino enlist Alfred's help, who claims he knows a group who can lead them to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating. I was swamped with school and everything like that and completely burned out after writing too many papers. That and I had to do a lot of thinking to get this plot in order in my head. Tbh, I'm completely terrified of doing something wrong with this fic, which is a little silly because it's just a piece for fun. I've never written much beyond oneshots with this pairing. 
> 
> On another note, I intend on updating a few of my other fics this week as well.
> 
> Um, it's 2 am so...I'll proofread tomorrow. My apologies. I have lab in the morning. 
> 
> (Ah man, guess what's coming soon to a steamtalia fic near you. Painfully sad Gerita.)

Gilbert wasn’t sure how they survived the journey home—just that dragging feet grew numb across cobblestone that bled into gravel that bled into dirt, narrow passageways support for sagging shoulders when eyes drooped.

They’d taken the long way out East close to where Gilbert lived so that they ended up circling back three more miles than usual to avoid detection.

The first mile had been electric paranoia. Every sound prickled the hairs at the back of his neck. Level breathing barely contained a quickening heartbeat, but training demanded that he remain calm. His companion was not so disciplined: the skittering of a cat through rubbish piled in one alley nearly sent him bolting forward, if not for Gilbert’s grip on the back of his torn shirt. 

Toward the third mile, both sluggishly hauled one foot in front of the other as joints ground harsh protests in the chilling air. With the rise of night came scraping winds that drove sand into mesmerizing pockets around their calves.

“Almost there,” Gilbert murmured. He heard Lovino grunt near him. “Should be safe enough. We can sleep for a few hours then figure out what to do.” 

“…you better be right,” Lovino finally said. “Used to sleep out in an alleyway by the old factory, but she…probably led them there.” He swayed through a long yawn, and Gilbert tightened his grip around his arm, pulling urgency into a slowly sinking walk. 

“The prostitute who was your friend?” Gilbert asked. The pair slipped into an alleyway sheltered from a fresh salvo of wind. Sand picked up higher, scraping from the rooftops. “Look, I believe you when you say your partner-in-crime was a chick, but…some weirdass old geezer knew you were there too. He pointed me to that whorehouse.” He gnawed on his lip, “I feel like a fucking idiot for letting him trick me…thinking of this fucked up mess I’m suddenly in.”

Silence.

When Lovino did talk, he sounded small, as if the night and its restless churning had swallowed him up. “It’s not like I asked for this shit either…I could have fucking died.” He gnawed his lip. “Why did you even come back for me? You could have left me there. You’d have avoided this shit altogether.”

Gilbert swallowed. “On principle, a soldier does not leave a man behind.” He took a deep sigh. “R-regardless. We’ve got to get to my house. I don’t know how long we’ll be in the clear, but we can plan from there.” He glanced back at Lovino, a pale face cloaked in darkness, eyes set doggedly forward yet into the distance of another reality. “And most importantly, get some rest.”

Lovino said nothing. Gilbert only sighed, not wishing to fill the silence with the raw croak of his own voice. The heaviness that settled in his chest outweighed the numb of already heavy limbs. 

_What have I gotten myself into_ , he wondered. “Damn principles.” His best bet would be to somehow shake this kid off his trail. See if he could set him up in some town somewhere away from danger—because Gilbert wasn’t so much of an asshole to leave him in the line of fire—then resume his travels.

But the idea of settling down again and stitching together a new inconspicuous life made his lungs tight with dread. “Maybe if you weren’t such a fuck up, Gilbert,” he muttered.

Lovino looked up. “What?”

“Nothing—“ Gilbert said. He thrust his arm forward, pointing out an alleyway where tattered sheets fluttered over holes broken through brick walls. “We’re almost there. Just the end of this row and we’ll be there.”

“This hellhole?”

“Says the homeless kid? Shut up and be appreciative,” Gilbert said.

“Tell me you at least have a fucking door.” Someone groaned from behind their makeshift wall; Lovino flinched.

“My neighbors,” Gilbert said. That was one thing he wouldn’t miss. “I’m not exactly loaded with cash, you realize.” Damn right. Everything he had, he’d painstakingly earned. “And yes, I have a door, stupid.” He chest swelled with what pride he could scrounge up. “I fixed up the wall and built one myself.”

Lovino nodded. “Then hurry up.”

Gilbert’s living quarters were at the end of the alley, where Gilbert jammed his key into the rusted lock on a plywood door set into a wall made from mismatched bricks, different from the sandstone crumbling around it. “Get inside. I don’t know if they’ve followed us or not, but I don’t want to wait around to find out.”

The second time that night, Lovino stumbled into darkness, fingertips finding the rough oak of a bedframe. Something rustled behind him and the pale sliver of moonlight folded into darkness with the click of the door. Several latches clacked shut. The velvet hiss of a match struck a tiny flame into the room, which amplified when Gilbert tapped the end into an oil lamp sitting on the table. 

“This is home,” Gilbert said as he sagged onto the stump he’d been using as a chair. It was a tiny apartment, with a little firepit that Gilbert had dug into the center of the dirt floor and a bed crammed into the corner. He’d piled his clothes, neatly folded, beneath his bed, and stacked the few chipped bowls on the end of his table. A barrel of water and a sack of potatoes leaned against the back wall.

Lovino sagged into the mattress. A faint scent of straw tickled his nose. He sneezed. “This is it?”

“As I said earlier, for a homeless kid you sure are picky,” Gilbert said. He pointed to the opposite wall, which was only four paces from the front door. “That door there leads to what was supposed to be a second room, I think, but I ended up converting it into a little workshop. But that shit’s locked and I’m not in the mood for a grand tour right now. It’s past your bedtime.”

“Yeah whatever. Where am I supposed to pee?”

“On the street like a civilized little bastard,” Gilbert said. “Now go to sleep. We’ve got a lot of shit to figure out tomorrow, and I’m not pleased about it.” He pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Where…am I supposed to sleep?”

Gilbert scowled and stared at him, displeased with how small and completely vulnerable this tired kid seemed, arms wrapped around himself. “Dammit. Fine. Sleep on the bed. I’ll take the floor. It’s for one night anyway.” He cursed to himself, but stood and dragged a threadbare blanket from beneath the bed and wrapped up in it, slouching in the corner and leaning his head against the wall. The pillow from his bed thudded into him.

“Then at least take the pillow, jackass,” Lovino muttered into his arms as he flopped over. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know how I’m going to continue on like this,” Gilbert thought. In the back of his mind, he realized that if it weren’t for this kid uprooting him, he’d probably have done so himself eventually anyway. Still, it was refreshing to have someone other than himself to blame--as if dwelling in anger didn’t take enough energy already. “Whatever, this town was boring as hell anyway.”

An hour or so dragged by and Gilbert, irritated by the silence, stood and started rearranging the dishes on the table then folding his clothes a little bit neater. Then, he took a makeshift broom and beat at the floor with it, kicking up dust and sending it out the door.

He continued on in this fashion, until he realized the source of the silence, which he pulled from his pocket. His watch had stopped, no longer chipping away at the darkness with its steady beat, an indication of time wasted with this bullshit life, and mostly a reminder of rigid scheduling and the beat of marching drums.

“The hell…?” He felt a pang of sadness eat away at something in him, then eased the key into the door leading in the back room, which was half the size of the main room and tight with two work benches meeting in the corner. He took a minute to clean up scraps of beads and a few wire loops he’d used to repair the chain of his last delivery, which he’d never made. He lay the bracelet and the watch together in the corner, wondering if he had the energy to make the repairs; but, upon opening the watch, he saw that none of the gears seemed out of place nor were noticeably hindered by bits of sand or other debris. Winding the watch produced no helpful results, though the gears did run smoothly. “Well that’s shitty.” 

His eyes turned to the delicate twist of sheet metal marking the breast of a mechanical bird, lying in a makeshift nest of old rags which Gilbert had arranged, as he hadn’t the heart to throw the broken machine away. Another reminder of an old life. Still, fondly, he reached over and stroked the gears connecting the wing to the body, then the head and the sharp point of the beak. Gilbert didn’t plan on bringing much with him when he left, other than some clothing, tools, and this bird. He could accumulate necessities when he arrived wherever he ended up. He was too used to traveling light; he didn’t need much to survive.

“Oh well,” Gilbert said as he eased the door shut and turned the key. His gaze turned upon the little thief, sleeping like the dead, completely wrapped in his blanket.  
 _“What have I gotten myself into…”_

He curled up with his pillow and closed his eyes. It would have to wait until morning.

The stench of the rough blanket masked by the waxy reminder of soap finally wormed its way past Lovino’s patience and pried past fatigue. He sat up, wrinkling his nose and trying to discern shapes in the half-light of early morning.

Oh right.

The albino was clutching the pillow, half slouched into the corner, head tilted back, snoring lightly. Lovino felt a pang of guilt and rolled out of his bed, stopping when his foot hit the pile of clothes beneath, which he dug through until he found a green shirt he liked. It was a loose fit, sleeves a little too big and hem falling below his waistband, but warm. A pocket in the front seemed perfect for little trinkets that Lovino picked up along the way.

He glanced back at Gilbert--“Sorry,”--and headed for the door.

\---

Gilbert woke, hearing the phantoms of rustling clothes and unsteady footsteps in his dreams then finally rousing to the solid click of a door and a peculiar scraping noise. 

Disoriented, he sat up and looked around as if seeing his room for the first time. Quietly his eyes skimmed piles of clothes—weren’t those orderly when he last left them?—a few stacks of books, and the quilt overflowing the side of the bed, left a crumpled mess half on the floor…

“Shit,” he muttered as he leapt to his feet. “Gilbert, you fucking idiot.” Teeth gritted, fists clenched, he tore through his room toward the window, as if he could discern what direction he’d gone. Had he stolen anything? The first impulse was to check that the iron cross pendant was still around his neck, which he held so tightly in his hand that the edges dug into his palm. The next was to wrap his fingers around the dagger still in his belt.

The mess implied that Lovino had gone through Gilbert’s clothing—because Gilbert was a slave to orderly tendencies at least in some areas of his life—but he’d skipped the items he knew Gilbert had on his person. There was only one room in Gilbert’s apartment that held anything of worth, and most everything seemed untouched. The little thief wouldn’t have taken interest in scraps of metals and gears littered about his workshop, would he? Moreover, it was locked, though that didn’t seem a deterrent for the little bastard.

He stood and listened, blinking blearily in the hazy light of early morning. Outside the wind howled in complaint and relented nothing against groaning buildings and shifting trees. It nudged and cajoled the dirt of the ground into a tantrum that would probably soon sweep through the city in a violent storm. 

If he had gone out, he wouldn’t last long, Gilbert realized. Probably would serve him right.

_Tick tock tick tock_

Something prickled along Gilbert’s consciousness, following the stream of nerve impulses from the sudden beating of his heart to the agitated trembling of his fingers. He turned toward the door to the workshop. The ticking was a small sound—a tinny clicking of gears—that grew louder with each second that it marked, until Gilbert had to stuff his fingers into his ears before he could shove at the door--

\--Unlocked

He pushed through as the noise reached a crescendo, booming past his fingers and resonating deeply along the inner chamber of his ears until he felt as if it could shatter his jaw. But—just when it seemed his heartbeat lay captive to the rhythm of this strange clock—it ground to a halt so suddenly that Gil’s heart stumbled in the piercing silence that descended upon him. He took one step forward. His breath scraped awkwardly in the quiet air. He barely dared move.

Then, he saw Lovino, motionless near his desk, backed turned to him, his fingertips barely skimming the face of Gilbert’s busted watch.

Gilbert took another step forward. “Oi, you wanna tell me what you’re doing in here?”

No answer. It was as if Lovino had not heard him.

It took four steps to clear the width of the room, and one swift movement to clap his hand down on Lovino’s shoulder to spin him around. The thief staggered toward him, eyes blank, as if he was staring through thin air and not the annoyed scowl on Gilbert’s face, which widened into surprise. “Hey. The hell are you wearing my shirt—“

He stumbled back, releasing Lovino’s shoulder.

A swarm of mechanical fireflies had seared upwards from beneath the workbench where they’d been clustered in the dark. Buzzing, whirring, tiny gears grinding endlessly to fuel scrap-wings, they spun a miniature maelstrom up around Lovino’s legs, swooped upward, then dove toward Gil’s chest til he was driven the distance of the room, waving his arms around and cursing vehemently.

“Stupid little parasites!”

Rather than continue to chase Gilbert now that he was a safe distance away, they hovered around Lovino, like hundreds of little beacons in the half-lit room, blinking in and out as they bobbed and spun.

Gilbert frowned. The damn creatures were like viruses, fashioned from spare gears and parts that had broken free from automatons to scour the earth, often feasting off of machinery in order to repair themselves and replicate. But where they’d all come from and why they’d amassed in his workshop—

“My bird!” The nest was empty. With a startled gasp, he shoved through the swarm and past Lovino to dig through the scraps of metal and bits of broken chain and pliers. “I swear if you ate my damn mechanical bird I’ll—“

He’d shoved all the material from his desk in his frenzy, and whirled around with furious eyes when he found nothing. “You fuckin—“

Lovino lifted a hand toward his face, and with a rusted screech, wingbeats led a golden mechanical bird toward the graceful perch of his pointer finger. It landed and cocked its head with a metallic, scraping chirp and shifted from leg to leg, its motions jerky as gears clicked and metal shifted. A ruby eye blinked once.

The words left Gilbert all at once, leaving only the dryness of mouth and a vague faintness clouding his brain. The fireflies continued to drift in aimless circles, completely uninterested in his bird, which moved and chirped of its own accord.

“But how…” he finally managed at Lovino, who still seemed worlds away. Faintly, he noticed the outline of a key burning from beneath the thin cotton of Lovino’s stolen shirt, the silver chain barely detectable, nestled beneath the collar. It pulsed once and faded away. With it came a slow exhale from the thief, like the escape of a convict in the night.

The bird fluttered toward Gilbert who, without thinking, lifted a finger up for him to land, then stared back at the bird as it peered deep into his eyes, little beak snapping open and shut.

“How?” Gilbert said again. “He was…he was broken beyond repair.” He hardly noticed the tears glistening at the corner of his eyes, though he reached a hasty elbow to smear them away. The emotion built in him like the surging of floodwaters, until tears gave way to laughter, delight pure in his face as if he’d been reborn a child, months of hardship and anger melting away for that brief moment. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand _how_. Did…did _you_ do this?”

Lovino’s eyes finally focused on the pair with severe clarity. When he spoke he sounded small and far away. “I don’t know.”

And then he collapsed.

Gilbert dragged him back to the bed and left him there, even taking care to tuck him in. He sat in his corner, just examining his bird, who strutted back and forth along his arm as if to show off. “You’re alive.”

But like _alive_ alive, he realized with a start when the bird did more than pace back and forth and make the programmed loop on tiny wings. It was exploring, scratching at the floor with its claws then pecking at specks it found, not terribly interested in Gilbert’s intense stare but aware of it. Somehow his bird was more than clicking gears and rotating pieces confined to a tract of movement—once nothing more than a makeshift companion for a lonely soldier who loved to tinker.

“Impossible.”

\--

Consciousness merged with feverish sleep so seamlessly that when Gilbert woke, he barely realized that he’d been sleeping at all. But, determined to see last night as a dream, he stood and ripped the blanket from Lovino before shoving him off the bed. The thief cursed loudly and curled up on the floor, a shiver ripping through him at the shock of the draft gripping the ground.

“S’time to wake up. We have to figure out just what the fuck we’re doing to get out of this place—and where we’re going.”

“Fuck you,” Lovino groaned. “I fucking bumped my head. And you’re an asshole and I hate the sound of your damn voice, especially in the morning.”

The bird cheeped.

Gilbert, who’d opened his mouth to retort, let it hang a second then snapped his jaw shut. He glanced at the bird emerging from under Lovino’s blanket. “I still want answers,” he said, collecting the bird in his hand. “How does a good-for-nothing little brat like you know anything about machinery?”

“I don’t,” Lovino said. “Stop asking complicated questions this early and feed me already.”

Gilbert only sighed. “Fine, but only because food will help me sort through this whole mess.” He dug through the sack of potatoes and started peeling a few in a neat spiral with a small blade he retrieved from the table. 

Lovino watched the thin peels dust the floor. He frowned. “Potatoes taste like a shit.”

“You’ll take what I give you and like it,” Gilbert muttered. He scoffed. “Picky as hell. The hell did you even have to eat beforehand anyway. Potatoes are cheap.”

Lovino groaned and leaned against the side of the bed, ass still on the floor. “Mostly bread if I was lucky. Usually unleavened shit, but sometimes I could get my hands on fluffy stuff. Sometimes stuff made from grains like corn. And sometimes I stole fruit.” He picked up one peel and started bobbing it up and down, watching it spring and fall. “Sometimes I got plenty of money from the assholes who came to the whore house and could buy shit legally, like decent shit. Surprise surprise. Once I managed cooked stew with noodles. And meat.”

“If you stole the money to make the legal purchase, it’s still illegal,” Gilbert said. He started to slice the potatoes into cubes, which he dropped into an old pot with a scoop of lard he dug from a little container sitting on the table. 

“Like you’ve never broken the fucking law before.”

“Like hell—“ Gilbert clamped his mouth shut then turned away to build a fire. He glowered into the flame that he slowly kindled to life with bits of old newspaper and cloth, until he could add firewood. It took slowly, burning low. 

“You have then. Get off your damn high horse and just admit it.”

When Gilbert spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. He did not look at Lovino. “People’s lives were on the line, and not my own. I did what I had to and now I’m living with the consequences. But now, when it’s my own life, I’m doing things the right way. I started with nothing, and you don’t see me sneaking around cutting purses to eat. It’s called honest work, and I can take pride in that.”

“Then teach me,” Lovino said.

“…Maybe.” Poking absently at the mix with a stick, Gilbert turned to his bird and started speaking quietly to it. Eventually he ripped off a bit of paper from a pad in his pocket and scrawled something with a charcoal stub, which he wrapped around Gilbird’s leg and secured with a bit of twine. He murmured a few other instructions, pausing every few minutes as if he could discern whether or not the creature understood, and eventually carried him to the door and held him out through the opening. He took off.

Gilbert turned. He gnawed at his lip and silently returned to his pan, which sizzled and crackled, the skins shriveling and bubbling and the insides softening. He crumbled salt between the palms of his hands and let it sprinkle down.

“What was that all about?” Lovino finally asked.

“A test,” Gilbert said. “I sent him…to find a friend of mine who might help us. Provided he’s even in town. And provided he is capable of even finding him.”

“Was it a messenger bird before?”

“No. Hence the test.” Gil removed the pan from the heat. The pair ate in relative silence save for the tap of crude forks against the metal of the pan shared between them. “But it’s the best idea I have right now, since I kind of stand out in a crowd and am unexpectedly a wanted man.” A pointed look. 

Lovino ignored him. 

Grunting, Gilbert shoved himself to his feet and started refolding the mussed stack of clothes then arranging them in a small sack. He added a dagger that he pulled from beneath his bed, then a few choice tools from his workshop. Last, he picked up the small jars of seasoning, which he secured with twine, and a few kitchen utensils, leaving the majority behind. 

“That’s all you’re taking?”

“It’d all just slow me down. There’s no point in looking back.” His hand closed around the iron cross around his neck. “That shirt is only on loan, got it? You can carry the potatoes and the blanket.” He tossed him a sack.

Lovino began shoving items into the sack as quickly as he could. He cursed, realizing with a little tug of the lumpy bag that it would be heavier than he wanted to carry. “Wait, we’re leaving right now?” 

“Hey, be careful for the potatoes, dumbass. They’ll bruise. And no. Did you not just ask me what the point of releasing the bird was? We’re waiting on my friend.”

“Oh.” Lovino finished cramming the last of the items in the bag with a little grimace. “I’m going to break my back on this shit.”

“Do you some good,” Gilbert scoffed. “Weakling.”

He spent a solid fifteen minutes fussing over stuff in his workshop and sweeping the floor with a little whisk broom until the door shook with the pounding of a fist.

Lovino leapt to his feet. “Wha—“

“Chill the fuck out, it’s probably just Alfred…” He groaned on his way over, shaking his head quietly. “Probably should have given him a little code. In case it really is the men come to haul us away.” He smirked quietly at the way Lovino tensed up.

When he wrenched the door open, a blond male pushed his way in with an unnaturally bright grin, embraced him and clapped his back, then pulled away with another smile. He removed goggles from over his eyes and shoved them back over his hair. One stubborn cowlick refused to go either way with bangs parted slightly to the right. “A bit of a storm picked up back there,” he announced, rubbing sand from his face.

“You got my message?”

“Yeah, cool bird you got there, by the way. I don’t remember it being quite this interactive last I saw it!” He reached into the pocket of the large leather jacket he wore, irregular as most the men in this town preferred wool, and retrieved the bird. It opened its eyes as if waking from a nap then fluttered back to Gilbert’s shoulder. “Awh man, that’s fucking cool—“ The man paused and glanced over at Lovino. “Oh yeah, your note mentioned a kid.”

Gilbert nodded. “Right. Lovino, Alfred. Alfred, Lovino.” With a little cackle, Gil nudged Alfred’s arm with his elbow. “Don’t get too close to that one. He fancies himself a thief or something.”

“I don’t fancy myself anything,” Lovino spat back.

“Charming,” Alfred said. 

Still he reached out a gloved hand in greeting, which Lovino took cautiously, with a sour expression.

Satisfied, Alfred turned back to Gilbert. “You can explain your issue with me over coffee. It’s too early for much thinking. I need serious caffeine.”

“Co…ffee?”

“I’ve heard of that shit—“ Lovino said.

“No one asked you,” Gilbert said.

“Yeah well no one likes you. So shut up.”

“You’re both really cute, you know that,” Alfred said. He unhooked a bag secured to his shoulder by a long strap, which he opened up to reveal something wrapped in several blankets. He plunked it onto Gil’s table and unwrapped it to reveal a strange contraption that consisted of a flask, an apparatus of glass tubes, various rounded chambers, and filter papers wedged between brown flakes. “This,” Alfred said, “Is something that I’ve fallen in love with. Been doing a bit of traveling, and you know that they have these at bars all over Ador now--?” 

“Okay, but what does it do.” Gilbert stared, dubious. 

“Makes coffee,” Alfred said. He scraped two bits of flint together to light a flame into a bit of kindle beneath the primary flask, which he’d filled with water by unscrewing the bulb and submerging it into Gilbert’s water bucket, replacing it with a bit of a clear paste to help airlock the seal.

“…okay.” 

“So let’s talk,” Alfred said, tapping the side of the tube with his nail once. The water had already begun to seethe, and condensation dripped from the sides back into the liquid. Lovi stared at it as if totally enraptured. Gilbert fought the urge to join him.

“Yeah,” Gilbert said, turning away. “I’m a wanted man—“

“Again. Seriously?”

Gilbert shot him a look. “We’re not discussing this here.”

Al followed his eyes to Lovino, blinked, then nodded with a little shrug. “Okay then,” Alfred finally said. “Then what do you want to do about it?”

“I need to get out of here fast. I was hoping you had contacts in another city nearby…or a way to get me and the kid out without them tracking us.”

Alfred thought this over a minute. Bright eyes took in everything at once, analyzing, memorizing, observing. They rested on the sacks leaned against the wall nearest the door. “You’re in luck. I have some friends who are traveling through the area. They’re staying just outside of town.”

“They’ll take us in?” Gilbert caught himself before he smiled too hopefully, “Without a huge price tag?”

“That I can’t tell you. But I can put in a good word…”

As they spoke, the machine chortled water through the pipes--sucking and gurgling and sputtering to dispel a black sludge into the flask with an earthy aroma that somehow energized Lovino. He watched as the last few drops of water oozed from the filter. The apparatus groaned and gurgled once more, then sat quiet as Alfred smothered the flame with a bit of sand. 

Grinning, Alfred removed the flask and swirled it around idly, gloves protection from the heat of warmed glass, while inhaling deeply the steam twisting from the murky mixture. “So,” Alfred started, “Coffee?”

When Gilbert shrugged, one brow raised, Alfred retrieved a few bowls from the tabletop and poured them each a small dose. It was bitter and strong, biting and caustic; it sent electric tingles through Gilbert’s body among shudders at the vile taste. Between coughs, he glowered at Alfred. “This shit is like tar. And you’re telling me that people actually drink this piss?”

“I like it,” Lovino said. He’d been sipping as fast as the hot liquid would allow. 

“—No one asked you—“

“I did,” Alfred countered. Grinning. He downed his in a few gulps before setting the bowl down. “You’ll find it’ll definitely put a zip in your step. Which you’ll need, considering that this is going to be an unexpectedly long day.”

Gilbert groaned. “These friends are assholes, aren’t they.”

“No they just, um…” Alfred rolled his eyes to the ceiling then, glancing at Lovino, winked with a widening smile. “They have an interesting take on the law.”

Lovino visibly relaxed and continued to drink his coffee. 

“Great.” Gilbert muttered.

\--

As they walked, the living conditions shifted gradually from rubble to crumbling sandstone apartment buildings with proper doors and steps spilling out into the street. Iron gates blocked the mouths of alleyways. 

“You really did mean out of town, didn’t you,” Gilbert said, shifting the heavy bag so that it dug into a different spot on an already sore shoulder. Tinted goggles did more than shield their eyes from the sun and sand; the lenses coupled with old cloaks draped over their heads helped conceal their identities. Still, Gilbert’s head whipped around with every slither of restless sand or creak of wooden shutters. His bird, safely tucked in his shirt pocket, followed his gaze. “But this shit is getting worse.”

The sand was picking up. Shoulders tense, Alfred urged them along faster, pulling the fur collar higher onto his neck. Those who had been outside before, running to fetch breakfast or go to work, quickly retreated for their homes where they slammed doors shut. “We might have to take shelter in an alley or something,” Alfred called over a sudden wailing gust. “If we can find one that’s open.”

“That one—“ Lovino called, jabbing his finger toward his left. He shifted his own bag and started to jog.

Two things happened at once.

Snarling curses punctuated by a scream ripped through the storm. Lovino, already running for the alley, skidded to a halt, mind taking a snapshot of a horrible picture—four men with knives slashing into the skin of a cornered woman who had only raised hands to protect herself. In a split second turned decades, he found himself jerked backwards, Gil’s hand snarled into the back of his shirt.

“Lovino. It’s them.” He ripped him away and down the street, panic twisting through shaking limbs. “Thank god they were distracted or—let’s just get out of here—“

“Wait—“

“Shut up and run—“ Gilbert snarled. He twisted the pack in his hand, dragging Lovino with the other. In this way, he could manage little more than an awkward shuffle down a side street, especially as the thief struggled against his grip.

“Wait,” Lovino pleaded. “That was my friend. They were hurting her.--”

“Yeah, and they’d kill you. Forget about her—there’s no way you can help her--“

“I fucking can’t—“ Lovino snarled, finally wrenching free. He rounded on Gilbert, hurt and fear apparent beyond tinted lenses. “You fucking said so yourself. You can’t leave a man behind. They’re torturing her because they think she can lead them to me. Maybe you think I’m some kind of rotten thieving bastard, but I fucking got principles too.”

Gilbert let his arm drop. “You’ll get yourself killed,” he scoffed.

“You could never be that lucky,” Lovino said. His words were bitter and his eyes flashed with anger. “If you aren’t going to help, then hold these damn potatoes.” He dropped them at Gilbert’s feet with a haughty snort, hands trembling despite an arrogant façade, and started to walk.

Gilbert, kicking at the sack, dropped his as well and looked to Alfred. “Don’t you dare lose any of my shit.”

He followed.


	3. The Ex-Nobleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino and Gilbert meet up with a resistance group, members including an ex-noblemen who confronts Gilbert about Lovino's mysterious origins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain is melting, being sick is bluh. I had to introduce a hell of a lot of characters in this chapter. Also I am bad at fashion and imagining clothes and describing clothes. Forgive me where I have failed you. ;;;
> 
> I am new to writing a lot of these characters, so this should be interesting. More characters to come as the story progresses, including some major Matthias and Lukas (and the other Nordics!)
> 
> IN CASE you were confused
> 
> Abel--Netherlands  
> Antonio--Spain  
> Francis--France  
> Lili--Liechtenstein  
> Roderich--Austria  
> Elizabeta--Hungary  
> Ludwig--Germany 
> 
> I'm probably misspelling one or more of their human names. ;;;
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> as always, comments, suggestions, etc are more than appreciated and very much loved. <3 Thank you so much for reading

* * *

 

Rather than confront directly, Lovino scrabbled up the steps into the doorway of the adjacent building, then boosted himself off the railing onto a windowsill ten feet off the ground.  Wind ripping at his clothes, he swung himself onto the window alongside, catching a hold of the bottom of the shutter of the window above.  In this fashion, he scaled the wall, one movement jerking into the next with a strange grace, until he heaved himself up to the roof of the building.

Gilbert could only watch from below.  He drew his dagger, following the lithe shape of his partner as he jogged toward the alley.

Lovino halted, one hand clenched tight around his goggles.  He pointed to Gilbert then to the alleyway.  His lips formed silent words.  “I’ll distract them.  Get my friend out of there.”

Gilbert held up a hand—a signal to wait.  Sheathing his dagger, he tossed it upwards.  “Don’t fucking steal this,” he mouthed back.  
  
Lovino had to lean to catch it.  He stuffed the sheath in his pocket and drew the blade.  “I’ll try not to.”

Then he vanished toward the other side.

As Gilbert approached the alleyway, the screaming became louder, no longer snatched by the torrent of wind but confined in the quiet still space between the shelter of buildings.  The woman in question was about his age, though petite.  Her hair, once blonde, had been shorn in odd places and caked with the same blood that seeped down into torn clothes.  Weaponless, she held up her hands in surrender, tears long since dried, bloodied lips pressed into a thin line.

Gilbert plastered his back to the wall, just around the corner, and waited.

Muffled grunts.  The thud of metal into flesh and subsequent gurgling yowl.  Lovino had landed on one man’s shoulders, blade swinging in a wide slash to cut at another’s face as the first went down.  He leapt to his feet but fell into a crouch to dodge the third man, just as Gilbert rounded the corner again.  
  
“Hurry the fuck _up_ ,” Lovino screamed.   
  
Without glancing back, Gilbert swept the woman from her feet and ran.  He heard the slap of bare feet and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lovino catch up then pass him, the dagger clenched in one bloody fist.

The pair skidded to a halt in the midst of a swirl of sand.  Alfred stood in the seat of a small vehicle that wheezed with impatience at the turn of a key.  “Get in—“  
  
They crawled into the clumsy contraption, which creaked and swayed with the movement then lurched forward as Alfred punched the gas.  It took some work, but together, Lovino and Gilbert were able to grapple with the heavy cloth pinned to the back of the vehicle, lashing it down to the frame above to form an enclosed carriage that protected them from the abrasive onslaught of sand.

The woman still in his lap, Gilbert leaned against the back, panting harshly.  “That was—“  A few deep breaths did little to calm a racing heart.  “That was kind of intense.  Lovino I didn’t know you had something like that in you—“

When Lovino did not respond, he probed him with a questioning look.  The other was pale, staring at his reflection in the dull, reddened blade of the dagger.

Gilbert put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey,” he murmured.  “Lovino…hey.  It’s okay.  You did what you had to do.”  He wrestled his canteen free and pressed it into the other’s hands.  “Drink up, alright?  I’ll tend to your friend here.”  
  
Unexpectedly, she was awake, watching the pair interact calmly, lips still clenched tightly.  A trembling hand snaked up to brush bangs from her eyes, the other holding tightly to the tattered edges of the front of her shirt, knees drawn up to her chest. 

Gilbert helped her shift from his lap into the space between himself and Lovino.  “Are you alright?”

She nodded.  Once.  Blank eyes slid over to the canvas wall.

Around them, the vehicle rattled and swayed.  The wind howled against their makeshift cave.

Alfred, peering through the glass panel at the front, leaned forward as if that would help him concentrate.  “Hey, Gilbert.  I just become the third criminal in this group.  Stole an entire car.  God, what is Arthur going to think about this newest misadventure.”  
  
“I’m not a criminal,” Gilbert shot back.

A rough cough indicated that Lovino had finally tried a swig from the canteen.  He wiped at his mouth, eyes burning, then pounded against his chest.  “You asshole, this isn’t water.”

“You looked like you needed something stronger than that,” he replied with a little shrug.  He watched, amused, as Lovino took another few sips, then set it down.  The woman refused when offered.

They drove in silence.  
  
Half an hour later, Alfred cleared his throat.  “We’re just about out of town and the wind is finally dying down.”  
  
“Does that mean we’ll meet your friends soon?” Gilbert asked.  He glanced over to find that both Lovino and the woman were asleep, heads leaned together, both utterly exhausted.  He did not have the heart to pry the dagger from the sleeping thief’s hands, lest he wake him, though he did take his hat and jam it on his own head.  Collateral. 

“Yeah, pretty soon,” Alfred answered.  “Hey, I know this is hard for you.”  
  
“Everything is one giant clusterfuck,” Gilbert agreed.  “You don’t know what I would give to be a soldier again.”  His bird scratched along the top of his head, safe beneath the hat.  “I guess I’m just paying the price for my misdeeds.

“Gilbert,” Alfred said, glancing back at him.  “If you hadn’t disobeyed those orders, the guilt would have consumed you.  You’re a good man.”

“No, only a damned good soldier,” Gilbert muttered.  “Or was.”  
  
“It was a difficult decision to make,” Alfred said.  He shrugged a little bit, shoulders relaxing.  The rattle of the car intensified as pavement bled into gravel.  He felt his teeth chatter.  “Men are not machines.  Neither are soldiers.”  
  
Gilbert groaned.  “Don’t give me another one of your faith in humanity speeches, Alfred.  I might actually punch you in the face.”  
  
Lovino shifted as the car faded to a sputtering stop and Alfred began tugging away the canvas.  Fresh sunlight poured into his face.

“Goddamn…”  He sat up. 

The town was a blot on the hazy horizon, the road a singular vein in a stretch of cracked desert.

Gilbert rubbed at squinted eyes.  “Alfred, I don’t see anyone.”

The scuff of shoes announced the arrival of a lone figure, which seemed to materialize from their left.  He wore a long red coat adorned with golden accents, which covered belts of daggers and knives slung over his hips.  A dark complexion, easy grace, and disheveled curly hair were secondary to vivid green eyes that sparked from suspicion to curiousity.  His hand loosened around the pole of a tall ax that he held at his side. 

“Hello Alfred.”  His tone was curt, but his eyes narrowed.  A lilt brought music to his voice.  He appraised the ragtag group, lips tugging into a grin as his eyes met Gilbert’s.  “Gilbert Beilschmidt.”  
  
“…Antonio Carriedo?”

“Whoawhoawhoawhoa, you know him already?” Alfred asked.  
  
““We met.  Once.” Antonio answered with a wave of his hand.  “What’s your business?”

Lovino felt his cheeks burn when Antonio’s gaze fell on him.  He sank further in his seat, one hand on his friend’s elbow. 

“Abel and I were chatting the other day,” Alfred said, “He said you guys were about to start up some shenanigans again.  I brought you a thief and an ex-soldier who will offer up their services in exchange for protection.”

Antonio’s eyes only narrowed again, but he took a few steps forward, appraising the two.  “Gilbert I know I can trust.  And the other one looks innocent enough.  But Alfred,” his grip tightened around his ax, “I’m confused by your insistence of straddling this line.  Either you’re on our side or you’re with the government.”

“I’m on my own side,” Alfred replied, grinning.  “Cool, well anyway, I have to return this car that I may or may not have stolen.  Good luck kiddies.”  He helped Lovino and his friend onto their feet, clapping the thief once on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry. You’ll be completely safe here.  Antonio can be a little intense, but it’s only because he believes in his cause.  You’d probably like him.”  

Antonio waited until the car was little more than a plume of dust on the horizon before gesturing behind him.  He knocked against thin air, which bellowed back.  The desert scene shorted out to reveal the metal hull of an old ship hovering inches off the ground, anchored by a single rope tied to a rock.  Old solar-powered sails sagged against aged masts, no wind to tug life into them. 

“Hot damn,” Gilbert said.

Nearby, Lovino also breathed his surprise.  His friend blinked, shielding her eyes from the sun to look up at it.

“Really, it isn’t much,” Antonio said, though his smile was earnest.  He helped them aboard, smashing a button on his way up the ramp to conceal the ship once again.

Inside was cramped, rooms smashed into one another, hallways tight.  Both Lovino and Gilbert had to duck in places to avoid knocking their heads on low pipes and squeeze past open doors intruding upon already limited space.

“To be honest,” Antonio started, “I’ve got a new beauty already picked out.  It’ll take some work, but one day she and the skies will be mine once again.”  He tapped the blade of his ax against a metal door.  It echoed dully.  “Hey, crew, we’ve got company.”

Wheel creaking, the door swung open.  A tall man with spiked hair ducked his head out, one brow raised but expression otherwise nonchalant, then waved them in.  He slouched back into his chair, where long limbs splayed comfortably out.  “Alfred finally come to his senses?”  Several onlookers watched silently.

Antonio shook his head.  “No, but he dumped a few recruits on us.  Abel, see to it that they know what we expect of them.”

“Didn’t know we were taking just anybody these days,” the man answered with a little sneer. 

Antonio pressed his lips into a thin line.  “We can discuss this later, if you’d like.”  His coat swished as he turned to leave.

Abel rolled his eyes.  “Well, take a seat, I guess.”  He watched as the three filed into the remaining chairs around a long table.  The maps plastered around the walls were curled with age. 

The other occupants of the room sat drinking something cloying from little tankards.  Abel introduced them, waving a freshly lit cigarette at each person as he spoke.  The smoke twisted about the room.

“Okay, well we have Elizabeta, her annoying man-child Roderich, Francis, and Lili.  I, of course, am Abel.  The exotic prick out there is Antonio.”

Roderich, the ‘manchild’, looked pissy at his introduction, but Lili, a seemingly innocent young girl with pink ribbon in her hair, grinned up at the trio with a little wave. 

“So, what exactly is the aim of this little group?” Gilbert asked.  “I like to know what I’m getting into.”

 “ _If_ we’re doing this properly,” Roderich said, “I’d like to know exactly who I’m speaking to first.”

Gilbert groaned, then pointed to himself.  “Fine.  I’m Gilbert Beilschmidt.  That over there is Lovino, and hell if I know what his friend’s name is.”

“Her name is Belle,” Lovino said.  Quietly.  “Maybe someone should tend to her before we get too far into this.”  His tone was polite, but Gilbert noticed the slight tensing of his shoulders.

He realized that Lovino was uncomfortable; with a strange tinge of sadness, he realized there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation—couldn’t offer a shoulder to lean on or a hand to hold.  Instead, he stood and repeated Lovino’s request.  “Yeah, someone make sure Belle here gets something warm in her stomach and bandaged up and clothed.  She’s been through a shit ton of crap recently.”

Abel nodded.  “Explaining everything is tedious.  I’ll do it.”  He lifted her effortlessly and ducked out of the room with a graceful twist to accommodate her legs.

“I guess I’ll take over,” Elizabeta said.  Sly green eyes flickered to the pair, a devious smile on her lips.  She wore a grey high-waisted ruffled skirt that draped low in the back, but swooped short in the front, where pants fitted with belts and thigh holsters gripped pistols and a series of daggers.  Her shirt, peach, was a simple extension of the skirt, buttoned fairly high on her collar sleeves lacking ruffles or adornment.  Her hair was dirty-blond and curly.  “Okay,” she said, leaning forward.  “Gilbert, is it?  And Lovino.  Here’s the situation.  One of more of us are on the wrong side of the law.”  She put a finger to Roderich’s lips before he could protest that statement.  “Most of us.  And our aim here isn’t anything terribly big at the minute.  We’re just interested in…liberating some funds from a few people who have had it better than they deserve.  And maybe padding our pockets a little bit in the process of redistributing them to those who need a bite to eat.”

“So no total take-down of the government, then?” Gilbert scoffed.

“Not with this sad lack of men and resources,” Elizabeta said.  “Baby steps.”  She crossed her legs with a dramatic little sigh.  “Precedence has taught us not to bite off more than we can chew, anyway.  Not yet.” 

Roderich, who had been digging into his pocket to find his timepiece, furrowed a brow at the watch.  He tapped at it with his fingernail and, when that did not work, knocked it several times against the table.  
  
Elizabeta glanced toward him.  “What’s wrong?”

“My timepiece has stopped working,” he answered with a frown.  He stood to leave.

Finally Francis spoke up.  He was a lanky male, blond hair long, face just slightly scruffy.  He wore a simple vest around a white shirt, and pants that made no obvious indication of weaponry.  “Lord knows how we’ll all fit on such a small ship.  But I think Antonio has plans of landing somewhere relatively safe tonight.”  
  
“Landing?” Gilbert asked.  “Meaning as in we’re in the air right now?”

Francis raised one eyebrow but nodded.  “Of course.  For an old, rusty thing, she flies smoothly.  And quickly.  Tents and campfires are preferable to the cramped conditions in here, especially as the cold of night settles in.”  
  
“And you’re not worried about wind?”

Francis shook his head.  “No.  The village we’re visiting is fairly sheltered.  Mountains, you see.  And lush trees and rivers.  Even if there is wind, sand won’t accompany it.”  
  
Lovino, whose eyes had been dull, head tilted downward, jerked to attention.  “We won’t be in a desert?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”  He clapped his hand on Lovino’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.  “Your view of the world is going to get a whole lot bigger if a desert is all you can imagine.”  His touch lingered as he stepped out of the room.

The others filed out, though Lili hesitated to give a little curtsy to the pair of them.  “It’s nice to meet you.  Please don’t betray us.”  The way she tapped the hilt of the single dagger holstered at the hip of her ruffled dress sent chills down Gilbert’s spine.  He could only nod, mouth suddenly dry.

“Well, I guess this is a less shitty shithole than before, anyway,” he finally said, glancing over at Lovino. 

The prospect of silence was overwhelming, especially when Gilbert did not know what the other was thinking—but then there it was, emotion overflowing from where he’d tried to contain it.  Uneasiness, excitement, fear.  His body trembled with each breath he gulped down.

Again, Gilbert had a strange urge to comfort him in some way.  He lifted a hand to squeeze his shoulder, but hesitated, throwing it behind his head to scratch an imaginary itch.  “Lovino…?  Are you okay?”

Lovino shook his head.  “Don’t be such a nosy asshole,” he snapped, shoving himself upright.  “I—I’m going to go figure out where the hell I’m supposed to even sleep.”

* * *

 

It ended so that the ship slowly docked in a valley caught between two massive mountains.  The group tumbled from the ship and began to drive nails into the ground to pitch their tents.

Antonio had Lovino help him gather firewood, which the thief did with little reluctance, as he was fascinated by the deep green-blues of heavy pine, their perfumes teasing the chilly air.  Francis did what he could to kindle a small fire with what they had, then sat gathering ingredients to cobble something together in a giant pot.  Lili and Elizabeta went out to set some traps.  Abel remained inside, looking after Belle, who was stable but refused to—or could not—speak.

Gilbert sat on a stump that he had found, trying to soak in a little bit of warmth.  He’d allowed his coat to sag from his shoulders and slump around his waist.  The cold air revived him—reminded him of long marches through the snow where the stamp of boots and holler of voices formed a natural rhythm and everything was predictable. 

He barely noticed when the stump wobbled.

Roderich had chosen to sit by him.  He watched as the second hand on his watch slowly jerked into motion, hours behind the correct time.  “Gilbert, is it?” he asked.  He coiled the chain in his hand, snapping the lid shut.  It ticked on quietly.

Gilbert jerked his head up.  “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Right.”  The other adjusted his glasses then stuffed his watch back into the pocket of his longcoat.  He wore an unnatural amount of purple.

Royal wannabe, Gilbert thought, though he kept his expression neutral.

“I like to consider myself well-read.  Well-traveled,” Roderich began.

It took everything in Gilbert not to groan as loudly as he could. 

“So I thought I would inform you of a few things,” he continued.  “I used to be a nobleman—“

That explained _more_ than a few things.  This time Gilbert really did groan.  “Look, is there a point you’re trying to make or are you prattling for the sake of prattling?  I’ve had a really long, confusing day already.”

Affronted, Roderich opened and shut his mouth, then opened it again.  “There is most certainly a point,” he said.  “The point is that I am the last one left from the previous resistance group.  The one that mounted the failure of the _coup d’état_ against the current king—“

“Why in the hell would a noble participate in a throw-down of the government that fucking spoonfeeds him?”

“To be honest, I was more than certain that Corrado would win.  I didn’t want to fall with the rest of them.  When our attempts fell flat, I was wanted for treason.  I fled.”

Gilbert pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Corrado… _Corrado_ …I know that name.  Fought against him when I was still pretty low in rank.”  He raised a brow.  “His army was miniscule.  A bunch of angry peasants.  What made you think that he would win?  Are you some kind of idiot?”

“I feel like it now,” Roderich answered, shaking his head.  “But he claimed to know some kind of weapon.  Something that resided in a boy that could bring the world to its knees, break the wills of the people.  I saw what that boy could do in person.  He could _break_ people just by looking at them. Reduce them to nothing more than soulless flesh and bone.  Corrado was going to use him to his advantage.”

Gilbert swallowed.  “What does this have to do with me?  The past is in the past.  Corrado is dead.  Assassinated.  No such kid has ever been on record of ever having existed, no matter what twisted reasoning you all had.”

“I told you.  I met him.  It’s a long story, but one of the ways that we…knew we were close to this boy, was if perfectly functioning watches ceased working.  Sometimes machinery.  That thief you have with you.  He’s dangerous.”  He stood, suddenly cold.   
  
“You’re spouting a bunch of bullshit,” Gilbert said.  “Lovino might be a bit of an asshole or whatever, but that’s a whole new level of idiotic.  And don’t you go spreading that kind of lie around the crew either.  I’ll take it as a personal offense.”  
  
“I just thought I would warn you is all,” Roderich said.  With a terse smile, he lumbered off toward the ship again.

Gilbert could not help but tug on the chain of his own watch, surprised to see it chipping away at the minutes, second by second, though indicating a completely wrong time.  “That proves nothing,” he muttered.

His bird poked his head from under the hat and squawked.  With a little sigh, Gilbert removed him and held him in cupped hands, watching the glow of the fire glance across metal pieces.  “Can you believe that guy?  Yeah sure something might be a bit weird about Lovino—but he created _you_.  Something as evil as whatever the hell that guy was talking about wouldn’t have been able to do _this.”_   He huffed for good measure.  The bird only chirped up at him and nuzzled his thumb.

However, he could not resist checking his watch again when he heard the gusty shout of the captain, announcing the arrival of firewood.  The moment he saw Lovino trailing him, grappling with more logs than his arms could carry, he noticed that the watch had ceased functioning again.  He frowned.  “Doesn’t mean anything.  Just means I’ll never fucking know what time it is when he’s around is all.”

With a loud grunt, Lovino released the logs to clatter onto the ground.  Proud of himself, he clapped his hands together and plunked himself down on the log beside Gilbert.  Antonio, grinning wildly, hoisted a few over his shoulder and nudged them into the fire. 

“So our thief is a pretty hard worker,” Antonio said, clapping Lovino on the back.

“Course I am,” Lovino said.  He scowled, but there was pride in his voice. 

Before long, Elizabeta and Lili returned.  “Traps have been set!” The first announced, twirling a dagger around her finger.  She unhooked a few rabbits from her belt, swinging by their feet.  “Also, did a bit of archery practice and scored something for dinner.”

Francis, who had been wrapping potatoes in crinkly sheets of metal, nodded appreciatively.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had rabbit.”  He took a long, curved knife, and began to dress them accordingly, fashioning a rotisserie apparatus from shoots of young saplings he found on the edge of the forest.

In the meantime, Elizabeta went to check out the ship, returning with Abel and Belle, but shaking her head, exasperated.  “Roderich is in a pissy mood.  He won’t have dinner with us right now.”

“S’for the best,” Abel said.  “Wonder what’s got his panties in a bunch this time.”

He blinked, surprised yet somehow oddly touched, when Belle, who had been walking as if she was his shadow, suppressed a little laugh at his words.  Suddenly embarrassed, he rubbed at the back of his neck.  “So there’s life in you, yet.”

Her lips only pressed into a little line, but she sat with him around the fire to watch Francis work.

“She’s usually very talkative,” Lovino murmured to Gilbert.

Gilbert caught the pained grimace on the other’s face.  “She’s been through a lot.  I wouldn’t be doing much talking either if I were in her shoes.”

“S’all my fucking fault,” Lovino said.  His voice cracked.

This time Gilbert put a hand to his shoulder, fixing him with an intense stare.  “Shit happens.  You’re the reason she survived all that shit.  You went back to save her.  And she’s here and alive.  Don’t you fucking have a pity party on me.”  His expression softened, and he offered Lovino the corner of his handkerchief, which the other used to wipe at his eyes.

A cool breeze settled mist into the little valley, but the fire kept a little orb of dry warmth around them.  The aroma of cooking meat and the sizzle of fat into the fire lit appetites and good nature.  Antonio and Francis sat singing boisterously between swigs of ale, the others of the crew occasionally joining in, though mostly laughing uproariously at bad lyrics and slurred lines.

When the meat and potatoes were handed out, Gilbert began wolfing his down, appreciative of the spices that made tender food explode with flavor.  He made a mental note that Francis was his new favourite person, and the only man to be trusted with food.  Even Lovino put a dent in his meal and somewhat sheepishly joined in on some of the tunes that he recognized, a little reluctant smile just barely touching his lips.

And Gilbert, watching him, felt something settle into his chest, an unexpected appreciation for the way his hair curled at his ears and the fine point of delicate features, eyes bright and full of life though his face was dirty.  All of this the fire lovingly caressed, swathing in warmth, collecting dark pools in the hollows of cheeks, but surging and receding again with the dance of the flame. 

The albino’s breath hitched.  He was beautiful.  He looked away, focusing on his last few bites of potato, cursing when the steaming bits stung his mouth. 

Lovino glanced over.  “The hell?”

Gilbert shook his head.  “S’nothing—“

“Whatever.”  He turned back.

Gradually the evening lulled with the glow of embers and satisfied pirates lounging against one another, ale warm in their stomachs, lashes fluttering closed.  Abel remained alert, however, sitting off to one edge.  Keeping watch, he’d put it, calling Antonio an idiot for trying to leave them vulnerable.

Gilbert had nodded, appreciative, and volunteered for second watch. 

Although the silence was comfortable, Gilbert turned to nudge Lovino with his hand.  “Hey.  You.”

“What?  Trying to sleep.”  His lids fluttered open then shut again.  He had not had much alcohol, but the sum of the day’s events were catching up with him.  Slowly, his head sank onto Gilbert’s shoulder.

“Not until you get into your tent, dumbass,” Gilbert said, fondly.  “The life of sleeping out in the open is over for you.  Don’t forget that.”

“Hmm…”

He did not protest when Gilbert hefted him up and carried him toward one of the closer tents.  The grass beneath the floor crunched at the onslaught of his knees as he crawled.  He tucked a burlap blanket around Lovino’s body then flopped down beside him.  “You still better give me my dagger back,” he reminded the other.

“Yeah yeah,” Lovino said.  He pulled it from his pocket and blindly dropped it somewhere nearby.  “Happy now?”

“Yeah,” Gilbert answered, tossing the hat toward Lovino’s head.  He soaked in the silence with a little yawn.  “Oi.  I know it’s late.  But I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“Watches.  They don’t work when they’re around you—“

“Hell if I know anything about that.  I can’t afford a fucking watch.  Never bothered to steal one.  Time is kind of meaningless if you have no schedule.”

Gilbert’s brow furrowed.  He rolled so that he was on his back, hands clasped behind his head as he stared at the point of the tent.  “Makes sense.”

“S’at all?”

Gilbert thought a moment.  “Where were you before the whore house?  How did you…end up there?”

“I don’t really remember,” Lovino murmured.  With a dozy sigh, he curled into a little ball.  “Met Belle one day when I was wandering around the city.  She…had the idea to help me out.  Put her neck on the line like that so that I could have something to eat.  S’how I became a thief.  I was still pretty young then…was like 8 years ago.  Been living like that ever since.”

“But you don’t remember anything before that…?” Gilbert asked.

The blanket rustled as Lovino shook his head.  “Not really.  It’s all fuzzy, though sometimes I have dreams of fancy furniture and sparkling chandeliers.  Wishful thinking, I guess.” 

 “S’weird,” Gilbert said.  “Get some sleep.”

The other was already out.

Gilbert did manage to get in a few hours until he stirred out of habit.  Ready to take the second watch, he emerged from the tent to find that only a tiny sliver of moon glanced across a thick carpet of mist, and that the fire had died to nothing but a hint of smoke.  All was still.

He approached Abel, taking care to quietly announce his presence.  He’d seen the pistols in his belt; he figured it would not be wise to sneak up on him.  “Hey,” he said, “I’m here to take my part of the watch.”

Abel nodded, smoke twisting up out of his pipe.  “Good.  Elizabeta will relieve you in about 4 hours time.” 

Abel inhaled again with a little nod, but tensed at a figure emerging from the ship to meet a broad-shouldered man who had just climbed through the thicket into their camp.  His posture was staunch, silhouette crisp.  He spoke in a booming yet gentle voice, just barely indiscernible for distance.

“That’s Roderich,” Abel muttered.  “Talking to someone.”  He whipped the pistol from his belt.  “C’mon.  I hope you know how to stand your ground.”

There would be no easy concealment, so the pair walked straight up to the others.  Roderich stepped back, blinking, as they emerged around the other end of the ship.  Abel leaned an elbow against the hull, one brow raised as he took a long drag of his pipe.  “So.  Roderich.  Meeting men in the moonlight?  What will Elizabeta think?”

Gilbert did not hear his stumbling answer, for he was staring into sharp blue eyes set into a familiar face—a man dressed in full military dress, the stripes on his shoulder a plain statement of advanced rank and the iron cross pinned to his chest identical to the one in Gilbert’s pocket.

“Ludwig.  What the hell are you doing here?” Gilbert said.

The other tensed, but fell back a step.  He covered his initial surprise with a cold nod and even colder eyes. “Hello, brother.”


	4. We Make a Good Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino and Gilbert participate in their first heist with Antonio and his crew. Lovino has his first flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working to churn out 50K of this story for the month of April (that's like...10 chapters?). Funny story, chapter 5 is complete as well, but I'm going to wait to post it. A LOT of information is about to be dumped on you after this chapter. I want to be able to edit it from the perspective of later chapters, which involves having WRITTEN those other chapters. After then, I can probably update every week or so because a HUGE chuck of the story will be finished. I hope that made sense. Kinda running a low-grade fever over here.
> 
> also I am bad at naming cities. Don't judge me.

For a moment of eternity, there were no words that Gilbert could find that could pick apart the emotion reeling through his mind.

Was it shame? Resentment? _Longing?_

But all that lurched into cold darkness when red eyes met blue—eyes that had once been so sincere when it was just Ludwig and Gilbert, two boys left on their own.  Eyes that had looked to Gilbert for guidance.  Who trusted and admired him as an older brother.  Eyes that shone with pride when they’d climbed the ranks together, now brothers in more ways than one.  Eyes that were now cold.  That saw him as nothing but an enemy.

He hardly heard Abel and Roderich spitting hushed arguments for a seething pain that boiled over and added venom to his choked voice.  “You’re no brother of mine.”

“Forgive my assumption,” Ludwig said.  Equally cold.  Equally terse.  “I forgot that loyalty is nothing to people like you.”

“Ha,” Gilbert scoffed.  He kicked at a clump of grass but dared not look away.  His vision scathed over the stripes on his shoulders, his own feeling almost naked without the metal strips.  He stared at the extra green adornment.  “The hell is the king’s little lackey doing so far away from his master? That’s what that extra bar means now, doesn’t it.  Entry to the Wingless City?   Whose ass did you have to tongue-kiss to get that?”  He hissed breath into the charged air, fists clenched. 

Ludwig’s jaw twitched.  “I go on solitary missions for the kingdom now.  It is part of my new rank.”  His hand strayed to the dagger beneath his coat. 

Gilbert narrowed his eyes.  “Then go complete your damn mission.  Whatever the hell you’re looking for, you won’t find it here.”

Ludwig turned as if to leave, but hesitated.  “—Gilbert.”

Gilbert bristled.  “ _What?”_

“If I could have saved you, I would have.  There was nothing I could have done.” 

He left.

And, as Gilbert watched the figure retreat through the brush, the anger boiling inside of him died back down into the pangs of deep suffering.  A cold breeze swept along his skin.  Goosebumps rose as he shivered.

Abel’s voice broke through the false silence.  He’d been speaking all along.  “You’re on my shitlist now.”

 “I had no intent on meeting anyone on my stroll outside.  I just happened to find him wandering around the thicket.  I was telling him to leave,” Roderich insisted.

Abel raised a brow.  “Bullshit.”  He cocked a brow and relit his pipe.  “I’m watching you.  Don’t make me have to actually speak with Antonio.”  He gestured to Gilbert.  “Though, Gilbert and I could bypass the associating with Antonio stage directly and arrange an accident if your intentions even hint dubious.”

Roderich swallowed but shook his head.  “I will not be talked to in this fashion.  I have no business with anyone related to the king who let me fall into poverty.  You know as well as I do that he cares as much about your so-called ‘illegal’ activity as he does his own subjects.”  He scoffed.  “What secrets would I even have to tell?”

“You’d be surprised,” Abel muttered with a long sigh of smoke.  

“Moreover, you’re not going to even demand answers from Gilbert?  His _brother?_ ” Roderich insisted.  “Maybe he came here to meet _him_.”

“My brother and I do not speak anymore,” Gilbert said.  “Coincidence.  Pure fucking coincidence.”

Abel’s eyes hardened.  “Roderich.  Honor the code.”

Roderich frowned.  “The code only stretches as far as the crew's safety is maintained. ”

Abel only shook his head.  “Stop trying to deflect the issue.  We do not pry into people’s pasts.  Talk to Antonio.  _He_ established that rule, and it’s the only thing he’s ever said that I agree with.”

Ignoring Roderich’s frustrated rambling, he nudged Gilbert back to his station.  “I’m going to sleep.  Like I said, Elizabeta will relieve you later.”

What was once a still and peaceful night was now ill at ease as the hours skulked by. 

\--

The next morning, before Lovino was properly awake, Gilbert sought out Antonio in his tent.  Beforehand, Abel had waved a hand with a little shrug.  He was sitting by the fire, yawning as he warmed a tin cup full of last night’s soup for Belle.  Some colour had returned to her cheeks despite the harsh bruises and scrapes sucking life from her skin.

“It’s not worth reporting Roderich,” he’d muttered.  “He’s always scheming, but he has no spine.  He knows better than to betray Antonio.  We all do.”

Gilbert had only nodded.

“What is it that you wanted?” Antonio asked.  He was using a dagger to carefully scrape away the scruff along his jaw, with only a shard of mirror to guide his hand.  He worked with such precision and concentration that Gilbert did not fear for him.

Gilbert sat nearby.  He felt along his own jaw absently.  “What’s the plan?”

“Plan for what?”  He’d put down both dagger and mirror, satisfied. 

“Action,” Gilbert said.  “It’s never good to stay in one place for too long.  You say that you’re a band of thieves.  What is our aim?  Our target?”

“Thought Elizabeta told you.  Liberating and redistributing funds,” Antonio said.  His back popped as he stretched long and hard.  He groaned, content enough, then shifted to his feet.  “With what we have, it’s the best we can manage.”

“And you really think that’ll make much of a dent on the shitlist of problems this country has?”

 “One less stomach that aches from hunger.”  Antonio shrugged lightly and pushed through the flaps in his tent.  He glanced backwards, “I’m as eager as you are to make a big impact, but lately life has taught me to be realistic.  Brute force never solved problems.  Delayed them, maybe, but never solved them.  If we were able to take down the government, that would exacerbate our problems.  Rioting would kill the innocent faster than the king’s negligence and greed.”

“Some things have to be broken before they can be fixed,” Gilbert muttered.

“Some things are not meant to be changed so quickly,” Antonio answered.

Lovino had finally stirred, hair mussed, a jacket borrowed from Abel half-draped over his shoulders as he shivered in the cold mountain air.  Dew clung to the grass and coated the logs they sat on.  The fire crackled brighter than the cold ghost of a sun shrouded by a thin haze overhead.

“G’morning.”  The log wobbled as Gilbert sat.  Tonio took the spot on the other side to stretch his feet out toward the flame.

“So,” Elizabeta started, traipsing through the brush with Lili at her side.  They’d caught several rabbits in their traps for Francis to dress and cook along with roots and tubers that he’d dug along the copse for.  “Lili and I did a bit of climbing to get the lay of the land.  There is the outline of a pretty nice little city nearby, sorta tucked between two forests, by a river, so you know the trade is probably very good.  Saw a few airships as well.  Mountain hub, I’m thinking.  Bet there’s mining going on there too.”

“Good target,” Lili agreed, nodding. 

“Like the sound of that,” Abel agreed.  “Gemstones would suit us nicely.”

“I can just barely imagine you dazzling us all in a diamond necklace.” Francis said with a little laugh.  “Or something nice and sparkly to drape over your hair.  Gorgeous.”

Antonio snorted, to which Abel shot a glower.

“Maybe,” Abel said, “I just want something pretty to give to someone pretty.”  Somewhere in that discussion, he’d thrown a protective arm around Belle.  She’d been shivering in the cold air.  “But it’s probably not your business.  And diamonds are worth more when converted to coins than sitting idle on necks.”

Antonio opened his mouth, but Elizabeta stood before he could speak.

“Anyway,” Elizabeta said.  “This is where our newcomers finally prove their worth and pull their weight around here.  With riches comes heightened security.  So it won’t be easy.”

“Obviously it’ll be a competition,” Lili chimed in.  “Teams of two.  Most loot wins.  You pick your target.  One house or establishment per team.”

Antonio chuckled.  “Sounds good to me.  Rest up.  We leave at dusk.”

The town was built from the very trees that were cleared to accomodate structures that climbed impossibly high given their material.  Gilbert could only assume that there was more to them than the wood and rivets that he saw—perhaps they were steel structures only encased with half-logs to give off a certain aesthetic. 

A clock tower rising in the center of the town chipped away toward 8 pm, but now its hand twitched and sputtered, unable to break free of some invisible hold.  Lovino stared at it and dared not meet Gilbert’s eyes.  Something about him seemed to diminish.

Antonio sensed something and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll be a natural at this.”

 _That’s not what’s wrong at all_ , Gilbert thought.

Roderich only shot Gilbert a look that ended with a little sneer. 

Uneasy, Gilbert swung over to Lovino’s other side and wrapped an arm around him.  “Lovino is my partner.”  He squeezed, just barely, and let his arm drop once the others had separated into their own groups.  “Time to see how the other half lives, huh,” he asked as the two of them wandered through a clean alleyway.  The roads here were made from gravel that had been cemented together as a rough conglomerate, then lined with saplings strapped to metal rods.  Shuttered windows still glowed with the evening’s last activities, but there were no bars here to keep the town buzzing with life into the late hours of night.

“How fucking weird,” Gilbert muttered. 

“I don’t like this place,” Lovino whispered.  The struggling clock thrashed against the silence, almost overwhelmingly loud, like someone gasping for breath.  With a shudder, felt his own heart skip a few beats.

“Looks like it’s trying too hard.  Who ever heard of fastening logs to buildings?  There are people would could actually use that material to make homes for people.  Instead…they put it toward something as pointless as that?  It’s not even that attractive looking.  Fucking bark on my house?  Hell to the no.  Should have just gone with the steel exterior.”  He glanced toward Lovino, to see if he’d at least coaxed a smile out of him.  The other just stared blankly ahead, focused on breathing.

“Right,” Gilbert said, placing a hand on his shoulder to steer him off toward the tallest of the buildings.  At ten stories tall, it seemed to lift up the dark sky.  “I pick that one.  Lots of floors to pick from.  Maybe it’s a hotel or something.  S’the only reason I can think that someone would need so many floors, unless it’s related to the mining business.  If that’s the case, then hell yeah, diamonds.”  He felt a twinge of guilt at the prospect of stealing, matched only by an intense thrill. 

Lovino nodded, once, snapping back into focus.  “I’ve never broken in to a place before…just, picked pockets really.”

“You’re fucking amazing at climbing,” Gilbert reminded him.  “Like Antonio said, you’ll be a natural.  It’s coming from two people, so it must be true.”  He shot him a wide grin, grateful when Lovino managed a small smile in return, face lit with the same thrill that Gilbert felt.  He turned away from the clocktower.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Lovino asked.  “You want me to climb up onto the second floor?  Windows probably aren’t locked at that height.  And with the bark and the joints in the wood work, it’ll be easy to find footholds.”

Gilbert nodded.  He loved something about the focus in Lovino’s expression and the businesslike manner in which he spoke.  He almost felt like he was planning a mission for the army again.  He obeyed the urge to put a hand on Lovino’s shoulder, cheeks flushing when the other cocked his head, then leaned into a huddle to whisper, mouth twitching into a half-smile.  Lovino’s pulse beneath his hand was almost electric.  “Okay, how about this.  You do your climbing thing and you work your way back to the bottom floor and let me in.  There might be alarms or traps of some sort—“

“I’m very careful,” Lovino said.  “Very agile.  Shit like that won’t be a problem.”  A rare spark of confidence played across his face.  The corner of his mouth matched Gilbert’s smirk. 

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Gilbert responded.  “I’m more a brute strength guy, but I’ve been known to be clever once in a while too, so don’t underestimate me.  Don’t know what we’ll find in this place.  We have to work as a cohesive unit.”

“Right.”  Lovino glanced at the building then tugged the dagger from Gilbert’s belt.  “I gotta find my own dagger one of these days.”  There were no further words.  He’d clamped the blade between his teeth then lifted himself up onto the wall.  He wobbled, but then found a new foothold.  Deep breath.  Eyes scanning.  Lean muscles flexed, fingers prying.

Gil circled the building, keeping to the shadows.  Finding no immediate threat—not even a flutter of activity—he returned to the front and retrieved his bird from his pocket.   “Hey, bird, fly up there and help him out.  You can scope around corners and alert him to danger.”   
  
The bird took flight with a few heavy wingbeats to burrow beneath Lovino’s hat until the thief crouched in the confines of a window hole.  He jimmied it open carefully, but had to twist his body around the open end—feet hanging perilously off the ledge—to slip inside.  He landed in the exterior and looked around, rubbing his hands together to relieve the sting of splinters.

Tubes of fluid light pulsed along the periphery of the room, a lambent orange that reminded Lovino of jars of fireflies.  Through the center, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the squares of windows, display cases contained odd artifacts—swords studded with jewels, sculptures of stained glass set into lead frames, bones of strange winged creatures, intricately carved daggers and rings.

“This is the fucking motherlode,” Lovino muttered to himself, shoving the dagger into his belt.  He set the bird on the floor.  “Okay, you, scout around corners and shit, unless Gil sent you up here to annoy me.”

The bird obliged, poking its head out the door and down into a stairwell.  Its chirp echoed in the stillness, so Lovino followed.  Though, when he walked, he walked as if he owned the place.  There were no trip wires as far as he could squint into the darkness, and the bird seemed to be analyzing the corners better than the thief had hoped.  They found the front door together.  Lovino inhaled slowly, twisted the lock, and pushed it open.  Gilbert squeezed through.

“That was easy,” Lovino said.

“Too easy,” Gilbert agreed.  “Thought Elizabeta said something about heightened security.”

Lovino shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But there is some serious fucking loot here.  Like shiny and rare looking shit.  Let’s grab as much as we can then get out of here.”

They made it back to the second floor and took a moment to slice open the seams of the glass cages.  Lovino set each panel carefully on the floor, dismantled boxes, then helped Gilbert lower the artifacts into burlap sacks they’d brought from the ship.

“S’gonna be a lot to carry,” Lovino said.

Gilbert nodded.  “We’re so going to win.”

They reached for the last dagger at the same time, hands brushing.  Gilbert jerked his away, mumbling an apology.  Lovino bit his lip but grabbed it, tilting it to watch the way the moonlight glinted down the edge.  A murky twist of smoke lay trapped beneath a coat of silver.  “This is beautiful…”

“You wanted a dagger,” Gil said, plucking his own dagger from Lovino’s belt.  “I bet that’s strong as hell.  Never seen metal like that before.  Keep it.”

With a nod, Lovino thrust it—hilt and all—into his belt.  “I like it.  Let’s look for other rooms.”

Most of the other rooms looked like lounge areas, with the exception of a few offices crammed into corners, where diamond dealing probably happened.  A thorough examination revealed that there were no hidden safety deposit boxes, so they concluded that the dealers brought their own wares and kept them at a separate location.  (“Damn, I hope that’s not the building that one of our rivals chose,” Gilbert had remarked.)

The next floor brought more of the same.  “The hell is this building even for?” Lovino asked, tracing the leather of a plush couch with his finger.  He stepped over an ottoman then a low glass coffee table on his way to an adjacent room.

Inside was musty with the breath of old books crammed onto shelves.  Carpet made from animal hides muffled his footsteps, demanding reverence, while the embers of a dying fire touched heat upon the glass globe containing it, set in the center of the room between armchairs and small tables overloaded with piles of tomes.

Gilbert brushed his fingers against the worn fabric of several volumes at head height.  “This is amazing,” he breathed. 

“Look,” Lovino whispered, making a blind grab for his elbow.  He was standing over a glass porthole, visible where the rug had shied from the wall.  “What is this…”  
  
Gilbert crouched beside him and leaned forward.  “Water.  Lots of it.”

A deep echo hinted depth and movement.

“But why…?” 

Lovino yelped.

A filament of— _something—_ twisted past the surface, followed by the dark silhouette of a body.  It drifted with haunted grace, slowly, sensuously.  Lovino fell backwards into Gilbert’s arms.

“Shh, s’okay,” Gilbert said.  “It—whatever it is—is trapped in there.  Must be some kind of aquarium or something in the room below us—“

“A _what?”_

“Like someone captured the ocean in a box and put it in their home,” Gilbert explained.  He returned to the books, climbing up and down the ladder.  Something caught his eye.

In the meantime, Lovino, disinterested with the books, sank into one of the chairs and started fiddling with his dagger.  “We don’t have all night.”

“Wait a fucking second,” Gilbert said.  He tipped the book off the shelf and squinted at the title.  It was nothing special, but the key ripped into the spine was too familiar.  He glanced back down at Lovino, catching the hint of chain falling over his collarbone.  He’d only seen the hot, glowing outline of that key once; he’d been mesmerized by the knots twisting into themselves.  How common was that design?  He shoved the book into his sack.  It was too dim to read properly here.

A strangled cry ripped through the silence.  Gilbert lost his footing, caught himself, then dropped to the floor, heart hammering.  He spun to find Lovino. “What the fu—are you okay?!”

Lovino was staring at a curious ring he’d found nestled in the pages of an opened book, his lungs tripping over themselves in his panic.  The colour drained from his face.

“The hell is that—?” Gilbert demanded.  He crouched in front of his partner and pried the ring from his hands, finding nothing special about it other than the ruby set into the center and odd markings carved along the band.  Lovino did not respond.  He smacked at his cheeks then shook him by the shoulders.  “Oi, this is not a good time to have some kind of episode.  Lovino?  Lovino?!”  Nothing.  Finally, he reeled back and slapped him.  Hard.

Lovino fell back a step, blinking in horror, hand at his cheek.  “T-the hell--?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Gilbert said.  “I—there is something _weird_ about this place—“

“First you’ll return what you’ve stolen.”

The heavy outline of broad shoulders blocked the entrance to the library.  Gil glanced at the window—the only other escape—but realized with a pang of dread that they were ten stories up.

“Hey, we were just—uh…”

The man took a step forward.  Gilbert drew his dagger but flinched backwards, feeling so terribly small, fear choking further explanation.  He glanced at Lovino.  Maybe he could draw the enemy away from the door—give his partner a chance to dart past to safety.  He was quick enough—

He bit his lip, hoping to communicate this to Lovino, but could not catch his eye.

_Dammit—_

“Oi, first you’re gonna tell me where the hell you got all this shit—“ Gilbert said.  A desperate plea for time, maybe to get Lovino’s attention.

The other scoffed.  “The thieves sure ask a lot of questions.  Do you know what I do to thieves?  I sell them into slavery.  Mining metal.”

Gilbert swallowed. 

“ _You_ stole this shit,” Lovino finally said, his fingers curling around the ring.  “All this”—he gestured around the room and to the bags—“is from Volare.”

Both men stared at Lovino.

The stranger let out a quiet laugh.  “Cute that you think you know anything of the Wingless City, a little peasant like you.  Moreover, all of my possessions were bought fairly.  Their original acquisition might have been dubious, but that is no concern of mine.  This is a _museum_ among other things.”  He retrieved a pistol from his pocket.  It clicked as he set it.  “When you wake, you won’t have to worry about the origin of artifacts anymore.”  With a relaxed hum, he aimed for Gilbert’s chest.

The bullet splintered the wood of a chair.  Lovino had tackled Gilbert down, then, transitioning into a roll, cracked the hilt of his dagger against the window in the floor.  It shattered.  More bullets spat into the wall.  Gilbert yelped at the slap of icy water that sucked him in.

They plunged deep.  His clothes heavy around his limbs, Lovino flailed, frustration and precious air streaming from his mouth.  He kicked toward the bottom, barely aware of the shadow of his partner following, cheeks puffed with air he was desperate to hold on to.  Bullets pounded into the water overhead.

Then, all was still.  Warmth drained to numbness. There was only the throb of depleting oxygen and tense lungs.

He felt Gilbert grip his sleeve and opened his eyes.  The other was staring at the slow trail of ribbons sliding past them, attached to a massive, bulbous body that propelled itself by stretching then contracting.  Though transparent, it lit with pale blue fluorescence.  It twisted around closer, unaware of its visitors, until it was just feet from the two thieves.

Darkness prickled at the edges of Lovino’s vision.  Around them, similar beasts writhed and drifted, all glowing with the same eerie light. 

“Shit,” Gilbert mouthed.  Bubbles escaped.  He too was fading.  He kicked and floundered toward a glass wall and started beating against it.  Water swallowed his screams.

Outside, Lovino could see the blurred outlines of couches and bookshelves.  The aquarium must have spanned the entirety of several rooms, because the tank receded well beneath the floorboards.  He pounded in unison, but his movement was sluggish. 

Gilbert pummeled the hilt of his dagger against the glass.  It did not even crack.  He twisted it around, but the blade could not even scratch the surface.

Lovino joined him with his own dagger.  The glass tensed.  A small crack.  He hit again.  This time it bit deeper.  And now, the water pressure, thousands and thousands of liters strong, centered its force at this crack. First a tiny spout of water shot through, then the glass began to disintegrate, piece by piece, until that spout was a stream then a waterfall then a massive flood.

The last of Lovino’s breath exploded from his lungs as his world spun out of control.  The deafening roar of water slammed the pair first against the shattering glass then against the back wall.  It poured out the windows in huge torrents; the two were left gasping for breath around the limp beasts in a waist deep pool.  Then, for a still moment, there was nothing.  Black spots still throbbed in Lovino’s vision.  He felt too weak to move, utterly spent, but urgency lent strength to shaking limbs.

Gilbert wrapped in on himself, coughing violently, while Lovino struggled to his feet to stare out the window.  “Fifth floor,” he choked out.

“We fell that—“ He coughed more. 

Lovino helped pound at his back.

“--we fell that far through the water?” he finally managed.

Lovino nodded.  “I—I think I blanked out somewhere in all that.  I—it was all I could think of.”

“It was—you saved us, so don’t—don’t”  This time he pounded at his chest and, wheezing, stood, leaving that thought unfinished.  “We have to get out of here.”

“Huge fucking aquarium.  Ocean the size of a building?”

Gilbert shrugged.  “Don’t…don’t touch those creatures.  I don’t know anything about them, but, shit in the ocean is deadly.  Shouldn’t be…just sitting in a glass tank.”  He climbed into the window sill, careful to avoid the jutting glass edges.  “S’get out of here.”

“Be—be careful,” Lovino said.  “S’still pretty high up.  And—and that guy—he’s still around.”

“Assuming that tidal wave didn’t fuck his shit up,” Gilbert said.

“It just fucked the one room up,” Lovino said.  “Anything below the crack is fine, however many floors that was.”

“He’s gonna be _pissed_ ,” Gilbert managed.  Despite trembling limbs and pained breathing, he felt himself laughing.  “Holy shit, that was—so fucking—“

“Shut up and climb out the window already,” Lovino said.  “We gotta…we gotta get out of here, remember?”  He tugged at his burlap sack.  “At least we still have _some_ of the loot, right.  Left a bag or two up there, but s’better than nothing.”  
  
Gilbert swung himself out the window.  “Yeah, I still have the small sack tied to my back somehow.  Hope the water didn’t fuck anything up.”  Namely, the book.  He groaned to himself, slipping down the logs til his fingers found a pryhold.

“Oi, you two, hurry it up—“  Antonio was standing beneath the window, flanked on either side by Francis and Abel.  They all carried bags of loot.  “You managed to wake the whole freaking city—“ 

Flutters had flown open.  Men stood in their doorways dressed in nightclothes, carrying swords, daggers, guns.  As disoriented as they were, they did not notice the small band just yet, but they’d begun to group and send out men to investigate the pools of water seeping into the ground.  They advanced on the building.

“Shit—“ Gilbert muttered.  He shuffled down the logs as fast as he could.  The wood cut his hands.  A few shingles ripped free and splashed into the marsh on the ground.  “Shit…shit shit shit shit.”  He made it to the bottom and fell to his knees, completely drained.

Lovino was not far behind.  Where Gilbert had pulled shingles free, bare, ugly metal gleamed in the moonlight.  He avoided these, scaling quickly, then dropped the last ten feet.

“Good—“ Antonio drew his own pistol and gestured to his men.

Abel picked Lovino up, while Francis lent Gilbert an arm of support.

“Heard the commotion,” Abel said.  “From the other side of the city.  You really did a number, didn’t you.”  There was no accusation in that voice, but quiet amusement.  “Elizabeta went to retrieve the ship.  Be prepared for more climbing.”

Roderich skidded into the center.  “I’m back—“  His face fell.  The people of the town had locked in on their location and were quickly clustering around the building.  The owner of the museum popped his head out of that same window that Lovino had just climbed out and fired rapidly.

“See that I don’t get revenge for this—You’ve ruined _everything--_ “

The bullets popped into the water like little explosions.  Antonio raised his own and shot back.  The man ducked out of sight, then reappeared.

A bullet grazed Francis’s shoulder, but he clapped a hand to the wound with a grimace and a smirk.  “Your aim could use some work.” 

Another bullet grazed him.  The populace had begun shooting.

“We’re not going to make it through his unscathed—“ Antonio breathed.

“Ye of little faith,” Abel muttered, pointing to the metal hull of the ship as it blocked out the moonlight. It hurled toward them, propellers rattling as they sucked in air, the end of a rope ladder dangling just at chest height.

“Thank god,” Gilbert managed.

Antonio gestured to it.  “ _There’s_ my one true love--Hurry up.  I’ll cover you.”

Francis boosted Gilbert, who started climbing, followed by Lovino once Abel released him; the ladder swayed and twisted as more men piled on.  A bullet glanced off the metal plating on the ship.  Another thudded in Abel’s arm.  A yelp of pain ripped from his throat, but he climbed faster, his arm hanging limp at his side.  Antonio answered that shot with one of his own, catching the man with quick revenge in the chest.  The pirate laughed like a madman, “The next one who shoots, gets it through the heart.  That’ll teach you to harm my crew—“

Antonio was the last to hop aboard the ladder, just as it lifted higher into the air.  When he crawled over the edge, he collapsed into the heap of his men.

Elizabeta directed the ship back toward the mountains.  Abel was left bandaging his arm with a bit of help from Francis, who helped dig the bullet out with his dagger.  The pirate bit onto a rag, fists curling and tendons bulging.

“Award for most destruction goes to Gilbert and Lovino,” Roderich said.  “We could have been killed.”

“But we weren’t,” Antonio said.  “This line of work is not without risk.  You should know that.”  He grinned at the sacks of loot and started to pick through the artifacts, jewels, and trinkets.  “We can sell this.  And the weapons?  Perfect.”  He spun a dirk around in his hand, admiring the worn sheen and the simplicity of the hilt.  “This is a strong metal.  Very rare.  They must mine Silf from these mountains.”

“If that’s the case, you’d think this country would be raking in the dough,” Francis said.  “Do you know how much even a few ounces of that goes for?  Even for machinery—it doesn’t wear _out._ ”

Antonio tsked his tongue, letting the dirk fall with a clatter.  “The men forced to mine this metal are never paid for the worth or risk of it.  Just the bare minimumfor hard labor.  They hardly even know how precious this material is.  They just need what they can to scrap together meals for their families.”  A frown lingered on his lips.  “You take the lowest offer when you’re desperate.  People know that.  They’re too happy to take advantage of that.”  His eyes fell to the floor, but with a quiet scowl, he stepped over the loot to examine Francis’s wounds. 

The other hissed a little, but put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder and shook his head.  “It’s not terrible.  Just gashes.  Grazed me.”

“Please make sure you at least clean the wounds,” Antonio said.  “Shame about your sleeves.”

Blood blotches seeped through the rips in the fabric.

“It’s only a shirt,” Francis said.

“True,” Antonio murmured, “There are many shirts.”  He returned to the loot and started to sort everything into piles.  “Many shirts, but only one of you.  We were all lucky.”

“To some extent,” Abel grunted.  He grasped his injured arm at the elbow, as if willing himself not to move and agitate the torn muscle.

Belle helped him to unlace his boots, lips pressed into a line as she flicked him in the forehead, a brow raised as if to say ‘be nice’.

“Not a chance,” Abel said.  With his free arm, he fished a silver chain from his pocket and dropped it on her head.  It was not very elaborate, but delicate and elegant in its simplicity.  “Hey.  I’m not much of one for giving gifts, so don’t lose this.”

She beamed as she slipped it around her neck.

In the meantime, Gilbert dumped his sack and started frantically patting his pockets, spinning as if trying to search his person.

Lovi, who had been trying to wring out his pant leg, looked up.  “The hell is wrong?”

“ _My bird—”_

“—Shit.”  Lovino climbed to his feet and started patting his own pockets.  “Uh…shit…shit shit shit _shit_.  The hell did Gilbird go—we didn—“  He sagged with relief when a metallic head poked from the pocket in his shirt.

Gilbert went numb with relief.  He fished him out and nuzzled his cheek against his bird, then started turning him over in his hands to check for damage.  The bird struggled in his hold and pecked at his hand.  “Thank fucking god…”  He hesitated.  “Wait.  The hell did you just call him?”

“Gilbird,” Lovino said.  He sat and resumed wringing at the ends of his clothes.  The night air, especially on the deck of the moving ship, wrapped him with a chill.  He shivered, teeth clattering.

“Who said you could name my bird?” Gilbert asked.  Almost indignantly, he patted its head with one finger, as if to say that he would protect his bird from such verbal abuse.

“You’re Gilbert.  He’s Gil the bird.  Gilbird.  Shut up, it’s perfect.”

“No,” Gilbert said, “it isn’t.  I was thinking something more like…Iron Talon.  Or FlameWing.”

“Gilbird,” Lovino said.

The bird chirped.  It tugged free to nudge its head against Lovino’s knee.

“The bird likes it,” Lovino said.  “It’s final.”

“Fuck you and your face,” Gilbert said, though instead of storming away and slamming the door behind him, he did return, but with a blanket.  He deposited it around Lovino and plopped beside him to wrap in the other half.  “Hey,” he muttered to him, placing an awkward hand on his knee.  He waited a tick but removed it with a little cough.

“What?” Lovino asked.  He’d stayed impossibly still.  Now, he seemed to relax.

“You were amazing…earlier,” Gilbert said.  He felt his cheeks burn.  He looked away.  “You’re so fucking quick on your feet.”

Lovino watched the rest of the crew settle for a night under the stars, since the air was so nice.  “You’re not the worst yourself.  Make a good team.  Balance each other out and shit like that.”  He covered a yawn with his arm as he slumped against him.

There were a million and one questions burning within Gilbert.  Questions about Volare and artifacts and the ring that they found—and how Lovino could know anything of it when most men didn’t rank high enough to even enter its bottom tier.  But, whenever he opened his mouth, he couldn’t bear to break the quiet or disturb the content softness in Lovino’s eyes as they fluttered shut. 

Instead, with a disdainful huff, he dug the ruby ring from his pocket and cast it aside toward the nearest pile of loot.  “There is a reason you don’t remember much,” he muttered.  “And maybe it’s a good one.”  Now that Lovino was asleep, he rested his head on top of his and closed his eyes.

Belle watched the ring spin a lazy arc toward the pile.  Recognition flashed in her eyes, but when she tugged Abel’s sleeve to speak, the breath left her as a whimper.  No amount of straining against the strange barrier within her could push the tide of words into being.  She did not make a move for the ring, instead chattering her teeth as she clasped at the chain around her neck like an anchor. 

“What is it?” he asked, softly.  Most of the men had settled down for the night.  The embers from a cast-iron pot that sufficed as their fire place died into nothing. 

She made an impatient sound at him, tapping first her head then pointing to Lovino, until Abel’s brow scrunched in confusion.  There was no way she could make him understand, so she curled up into his side.


	5. Like Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert learns that Lovino's memory loss was no accident, and that something might still be after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in total, I have 70K words written of this story. As of this chapter, 26K of those words are published. I will set up a schedule to update every week and a half while working on finishing the story. So...next update should be May 14th-ish. If I haven't posted, go bug me here or on tumblr bc the chapter is already written. It just needs some crazy editing is all.
> 
> Ummm, apologize for a huGE imFORMATION duMP in this chapter, next chapter we get to see where Antonio comes from. And Prumano at a masquerade ball. Plus Portugal's intro. And more of Ludwig.
> 
> I hope the pacing of all of this is okay. I'm still p inexperienced with multi-chaps.

The next morning brought bickering between Abel and Antonio.  Elizabeta had steered the ship clear to the next region, ducking and weaving between jutting mountains and plunging valleys, past scorched wastelands where entire cities hid in the depths what only looked like cracked dirt from above.  The crew had awoken to a tinge of salt heavy in bright air and the raucous call of seagulls wheeling overhead.

“Almost to our destination,” Elizabeta announced.

That was when Abel started to load the loot into sacks once again, and Antonio stopped him.

“What are you doing?” He tugged at one of the bags.  “We still have to sort through the rest of this.”

Abel shook his head, “Look, I know what you’re going to do.  You’re going to keep whatever you think looks prettiest, knowing full well that diamonds are worth nothing compared to the money we can get for them.  Then we’re going to have that much less for food and supplies.  It’s bad enough I allow you to just give money away, but be _smart_ about it.”

Antonio frowned.  “I’ve never been in it for the money.”

“You’ll starve us all to death and run this ship into the ground at that rate of thinking, you dumbass,” Abel said.  He scratched a flame onto a cigar and drew up a long breath of it.  “This is exactly why I’m trusted to use the money most wisely, and you are not.”

“I’m the captain,” Antonio said.

Abel only scoffed and dragged the bag away from him.  “And I’m the one who makes sure this ship flies another day and that we have shit to eat.  You can play charity-pirate.  I’ll play real world.”

Francis only chuckled from where he stood overlooking sandy dunes, leaned against the railing to feel the breeze in his hair.  “Normal morning antics,” he said to Gilbert from the corner of his mouth.  “The two of them?  Who knows how they ended up on the same crew.  Cruel twist of fate.  Even better, neither of them are morning people.  As you can see, never ever a dull moment.”

“Got that impression,” Gilbert agreed.  He leaned beside his acquaintance, propped backwards by his elbow so he could tilt his head back.  “This is the life, though.  Bit of excitement, bit of relaxation…”

“Noisy roommates and very little personal space,” Francis added, though he was smiling.

Antonio joined them later and jabbed a finger in Lovino’s general direction.  “Only a few of us need to go into town.  Lovino, Abel, Elizabeta, and I will make the journey.”

Gilbert nodded, standing at attention by habit, but promptly relaxing at Antonio’s bemused grin.  “Right.  Keep an eye on Lovino, then.  Anything you need the rest of us to do?”

Antonio waved a hand.  “Be prepared to travel as soon as we’re back.  I have a new destination in mind, a brother to see.”

Francis straightened up.  “We’re going to Kayma?”

Oddly somber, Antonio nodded.  “This time with nothing to prove.  I think it’s time I paid my family back.”

\--

Once the crew had disembarked, Gilbert helped Francis scrub the deck and command rooms, then sort through linens and laundry, which they sloshed and rung through rainwater they’d collected in huge basins on the deck.  They worked silently but briskly.  When they finished, Gilbert retreated to the tiny room he shared with Lovino, curled up so he could fit on the straw pallet that served as his bed.  Finally, he could open the book he’d stolen.  Its pages were swollen with water and the inked calligraphy smeared, but the paper was sturdy enough that he could peel them apart.

Most everything seemed unimportant.  Bits and pieces of history, he’d learned from his early days as a foot soldier, though they were outlined out of order and with no real organization, dates and names thrown haphazardly about with no rhyme or reason.  This he skipped in chunks, until he reached pages upon pages of schematics for different contraptions, each featuring peculiar piping that mimicked blood vessels.  These seemed much like automatons that Gilbert had seen in circus shows when he was younger, though those operated solely on a clockwork tract.

“The hell…?”

It had been a book from what that crazy man had called a museum.  Was this just the sketching of a madman that had somehow found importance simply because it was found by the right person?  Still, that key sketched onto the spine of the book…

Gilbert continued to pick his way through, fascinated by the clockwork machinery that went in to some of those creations.  He’d only dabbled in it—enough to create his bird—but the complexity required to make a whole human being and the sophisticated internal power source seemed impossible.  Robots that could make decisions outside of a programmed line of commands, move without depending on the winder’s key?

He absently stroked his bird, but wondered just how crazy it all was. 

He jumped when the door screeched open.  His first impulse was to throw his pillow atop the book, but he’d missed and ended up slouched over its poorly concealed pages.  He relaxed.  It was only Belle with a plate of bread and a little oil for dipping.

She set it down with a little nod, but closed the door behind her and pointed to the book.  A tilted head only demonstrated confusion at his abrupt actions, but he surrendered it to her.  She flicked at the pages with a little shrug.

“You don’t know how to read, do you,” Gilbert said.

She shook her head but made a motion as if to brush it off. 

“S’okay.  It’s not really a necessary skill in this day and age.  People don’t just become scholars unless they’re loaded with cash anyway,” Gilbert said.  “Nobody has time for that stuff.” 

Only a shrug.  She motioned to the bread then mimed eating with a fierce nod of her head, but paused once Gil was distracted by the plate.  She brushed her fingers against the key, also recognizing it.  She produced the ruby ring that she’d taken from the pile of loot.

Gilbert bristled.  “They’ll be pissed to know that you stole that.”  His jaw tightened.  “Put it back.”

She raised both brows like a chiding mother as she scooped up his hand and dropped it into the palm.  She pointed to Lovino’s bed then to the ring again.

“It’s…connected to Lovino somehow…?”  He asked the question slowly, as if working through it himself.

She tapped her own head, pointed to the bed again, made a x with her two pointer fingers, then pointed back to the ring.

“Look—I have _no_ idea what you’re getting at.”

The air left her with exasperation, so she stormed out and returned with maps which unfurled as they tumbled from her arms.  She found Rüs on the map and gestured toward Lovino’s bed again.

“Something about Lovino…and Rüs?”

An earnest nod.  She traced a question mark at the top of the page, walked her fingers from that point to Rüs, then pointed to herself and to the hand.

“Wait.  Wait wait wait, Lovino did say that you were the person who helped him out when he was starving on the streets.  Did he—did he have memories when you found him?”

She waved a hand.  _So-So._   She gestured to the ring with a dark scowl on her face. 

“Was this Lovino’s?  Did he have something like it with him when you found him?”

She shook her head quickly, a definite no. 

“I don’t get what you are trying to say.  I don’t _understand_ ,” Gilbert said.  He glanced back at the ring and something clicked.  “Wait.  A little logic here—if you knew him before his memory—then that means he _told_ you something. Or something about him changed when he lost it—or you know _how_ he lost it. Is that was we’re getting at?  Though what the hell it has to do with this _ring—“_

Belle only sighed.  The smile she tried to offer was weighed with resignation.  The last thing she tried was to point at the key on the spine, point to her head, then click shut the lock on Gil’s door.  She rattled it, staring intently at him, but unlocked it and slipped out after seeing his dumbfounded expression.

He was left to stare at the ring in his hand, which he set aside as he turned more pages of his book.  As he leafed through, he heard the bellow of voices.  He didn’t bother moving.  It just meant that Antonio and his group had returned from their expedition.  Successfully—he heard the metallic crunch of a sack hitting the deck.  Gold coins, he assumed.  He didn’t bother investigating just yet; he was afraid he’d be tempted to demand answers that Lovino simply could not give.

That’s when he found the key sketched in at the top of a page near the end, dappled with smudges of prints and a smear near scrawled script, as if the owner had been impatient for the ink to dry and continued writing regardless.  This handwriting was completely different from the neat calligraphy of the other pages.

Though Gilbert could only make out some of it, his eye caught on the words _the destroyer_ and the scrawled pictures of conduction towers found in most major cities, where electrical current could be shot through the streets into homes and factories.  _We will use his power to break the wills of the people and rule._ Several lines down, he also saw inscribed:  _humanity as thoughtless machines.  I will be the new winder to this clockwork.  We’ve tracked down the boy.  It is time to set the plan in motion._ On a poorly drawn map of the Wingless City, he’d circled the Grounded-Tier in red ink.

A new handwriting, neat but plain, responded to this note with a simple “ _He will be yours.  His path has been set.  Clockwork marches in but one direction.”_

Dread carved Gilbert hollow.  He stood up to a cold sweat and shoved the book under his bed, suddenly desperate to stand out in the warmth of the sun.  Even outside, he did not stop shivering.

Lovino was helping Antonio to count out the money and designate it to several smaller stacks.  He laughed and joked with the other, rattling handfuls together and dropping coins into the pile to admire the way they glistened.  He jumped to his feet when he saw Gilbert.

“I saw the ocean!”

Gilbert blinked, distracted.  “O-oh?”  He could not meet the other’s eye.  Air that had once been refreshing tasted bitter in his lungs. 

“Yeah, it was huge.”  He’d quieted a little, uncertain, but rapped his knuckles against Gilbert’s head.  “Oi.  The hell is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gilbert said.  Too quickly.  He sank to the floor and occupied himself with helping Antonio sort the money.

“You’re a fucking liar,” Lovino said. 

Abel put a hand on his shoulder.  “Kid.  Calm down and leave him alone for a while.”  He, too, shot Gilbert a suspicious look though, once Lovino went off to sulk.

“What gives?” He finally asked.

Gilbert glowered.

Abel scowled back, then raised a brow.  “I can read your face like a book.  Don’t be cryptic and just spit it out.”

“Fine,” Gilbert said.  “I’m just worried about Lovino is all.”

Antonio looked up as well.  He did not mask his interest or even pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“How come?”

Gilbert shook his head.  “It—I just have a bad feeling that something horrible is going to happen.  To him.  Something that is way over my head and that I won’t be able to protect him from.”  He gnawed on his bottom lip.  “Something maybe locked in his own damn memories.  Something he can’t control.”

“He might not need protecting,” Antonio said.  “Someone at his side, but maybe not someone playing the knight in shining armor.  Something very very specific has you worked up, I can see that.  You should speak with _him_ about it, not us.  If you want to have a relationship with someone like him, there is no tiptoeing.  There is only honestly—brutal honesty—and trust.  And that boy trusts you.”

“He…how would you know something like that?”  Still, Gilbert climbed to his feet.  He twisted his body in the direction of the cabins, but waited for an answer.

“You’re all he talked about on our expedition.  Gilbert this, Gilbert that.  Your adventures.  The great team you two apparently make.  Loyalty from someone like him is not just freely given.”

\--

Gilbert poked his head into their cabin to find Lovino scowling at his pillow.  He lay on his stomach, head propped up on his hands and elbows. 

“Hey.  The ocean, huh?” Gilbert asked.

Lovino sat up, but drew the pillow to his chest and wrapped around it.  “Yeah.  S’nothing though.  You’ve probably seen in a hundred times, so don’t pretend to be interested or some shit.”

A long pause followed.

Gilbert sighed.  “That’s not it.  I’m trying to sort through things.  And.  And I’m worried about you.” 

Lovino opened his mouth and closed it.

Gilbert shook his head but dropped the ring onto Lovino’s mattress.  “You had an episode in the library we stole from.  Holding this ring.  It was a flashback, wasn’t it.”

Lovino swallowed.  “How did you know?”  Careful fingers collected the ring, then spun it around absently.

“I guessed,” Gilbert said.  “What was it of?”

Lovino shook his head.  Not a denial, but a sign that he was questioning his own memory.  “Thick knuckles wearing that ring.  I also saw—my brother.”

“—Brother?”

Lovino nodded.  “I guess I have a brother.”

“What else did you see?”

“I saw—“ he hesitated, “Fire.  Men breaking down doors.  And a man with that ring pointing at me.  S’all I saw.  Just—“  He flinched, brow scrunching and lip trembling.  “It’s a mess, okay.  Everything is little fragments—I don’t know if any of it is even real or what order it’s supposed to be in.”

“Okay,” Gilbert said.  He felt an unease boil inside of him that shook him down to his fingertips.  He quietly rested a hand on Lovino’s, hoping to distract him.  “Do you…want to remember your past?  If it was possible, in any way. That is my question for you.”

“Why _should_ I want to remember,” Lovino snapped.  He tensed, taken aback by his own sudden response.  He continued, softer. “What if I don’t like my memories.  What if I’d rather start new.  I like it here with you and Antonio and the rest of the pirates.  I like being a thief and feeling like I have a family.”

Gilbert nodded.  “I—I need to be perfectly candid with you, is all.  Nothing would change if you knew who you are it’s just—I’m afraid that whatever you’re forgetting might eventually…come back to swallow you up.  If anything happened to you I’d—“  He looked away.  “I care about you is all.  If we’re going to be a team, we have to rely on each other.”

For a moment, Lovino dared not breathe, though he did slide down from the bunk, feet thumping against the floor softly.  Gilbert’s mattress squeaked with the fresh addition of weight.  “O-oi, don’t get weird and sentimental on me or some shit.  I just—“ 

Gilbert would not look at him again.  Lovino grabbed his elbow and tugged him down, hand remaining just a moment longer than necessary, fingers clammy and shaking.  He withdrew it.  Gilbert sat beside him.

“Gilbert,” Lovino said.  “What—what makes you think it’s important for me to remember.  Answer that.  A-and don’t dance around the issue.”

Something clicked all at once, as he glanced upwards at the spring mesh of Lovino’s bed above him then to the key hanging around his neck.  He remembered Belle’s locking motion of the door and the rattling, her eyes intent on Lovino’s bed.  “Because someone doesn’t want you to remember.  Someone _locked_ your memories—whether to harm or protect you, I don’t know—but people might be after you.  For—for your powers.  You might—you might even end up hurting _yourself_ somehow.”

Lovino blanched.  “So what, I stop watches,” he said.  He wrung his hands.  “When that’s useful beyond confusing people and disrupting schedules, then maybe you’re right.”

“And you made my bird come to life.  And apparently you can—look, I talked to someone who knows things.”

Lovino bristled. “That’s sketchy as fuck.”

“They said that the watch stopping shit was how they found you the first time.  That flashback?  That was them finding you.  I don’t know what happened after that—but it might have been important.  It was the people who wanted to overthrow the king—that failed revolution eight years back.”

“I see nothing wrong with overthrowing the king,” Lovino muttered.  “Have you seen how shitty this kingdom is?  Everyone I ever met worked themselves to the bone and still starved, while society’s favored went and fucked whores and partied and did nothing.  I saw and heard _plenty_ when I worked at the whore house.”

Gilbert put a heavy hand on Lovino’s shoulder.  “They also said that you ripped people’s mental states apart.  Killed them basically.”

“I-I did not,” Lovino breathed.  “The hell--?”

“Maybe you did and just don’t _remember_ ,” Gilbert insisted.  “I’m not—I’m not trying to scare you or hurt you—I just, I want to understand this so that we don’t—so that we don’t walk into something.”  He ducked down to retrieve the book and pressed a finger by the blotchy words.  “They went after you the first time.  Who knows how they learned someone like you even _existed_.  But words like…clockwork set into motion…makes me uneasy.”

“S’just tacky.” Lovino muttered.  But he scanned the lines and grew quiet.  “I’m not some evil… _thing_.  I’m not a tool.  I’m not a destroyer or whatever the hell they called me.  A-and nothing’s going to happen.  Not to me.  Not because of me.”  He spoke as if trying to convince himself, but he was turning the ring in his hands again, a focus born of straining to remember, like the glint of the ruby would spark something further.  Mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed, and curled in on himself again.  “Not a ticking time bomb or whatever the hell you think either.”

“I never said—“  Gilbert shook his head.  He saw the way that Lovino shook, like he finally felt the same dread, and wrapped both arms around him.  “If they made you forget, then that means…they might be coming back for you.  Whatever this is didn’t just end with the revolution’s death.  That’s what I’m afraid of.  Whatever they set into motion—“

Lovino buried his face into him.  “They can’t find me now.  S-so shut up about it.  I don’t even know how _to_ remember anyway.”

He refused to speak anymore, so Gilbert read and reread that page on the book, hand tangling through the other’s hair and rubbing at his back.  He turned the page.  The last words written there drove the chill deeper into his bones.

_The opposite has been destroyed.  The creator can no longer fix what the destroyer ruins._

“…Creator?”

\--

Gilbert emerged when he was sure that Lovino was sleeping.  He’d pressed his ear to his chest to measure the rate of breathing, but waited a moment longer for the rhythm of his heart.  The thief’s expression was uneasy, like his dreams were haunted.  He knew it was partially his fault.  “Am I doing more harm than good?” he wondered, as his lips brushed the other’s. 

Surprised at his own action, he hurried out onto the deck.  The air was chilled and restless with an oncoming storm, and the sunlight had started to dwindle.  The ship, rather than rock and buck with the force, carried on straight and true, much to Antonio’s spoken pride.

“Really is a good ship, despite her scrapes and patches.”

Gilbert nodded.

“You talked with him?” Antonio asked.  He handed him a strip of dried meat caught between two chewy pieces of bread.  The rest were eating and lounging on deck, some caught in a lively game of cards that Lili and Belle seemed to dominate, paired together.  Abel looked positively distraught as he pushed over the two coins he’d betted and lost.  They used heavy rocks to secure the flimsy cards in piles, clutching at their own hands to not lose any to the wind.  Why they didn’t play _beneath_ the deck, Gilbert did not ask.

“I did,” Gilbert said.  “Not sure if anything is resolved, but we are on the same page, anyway.”

“That’s always important,” Antonio answered.  “If there is anything within my power that I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.  I’d do anything for my crew.”  He caught his eye with a little smile, and he joined the game, offering up three coins.

Abel smirked across the ring to Francis, a quiet challenge to see who could empty Antonio’s purse first.

Gilbert caught a glimpse of Roderich pinning clothing across lines the crew had strung between the captain’s cabin and the rails of the ship.  He used little metal clamps that held even though violent wind ripped and pulled at its load.

“I have a question for you,” Gilbert muttered, as he took a pair of slacks and fastened them to the line.  He did not like the simpering smile Roderich offered him in return.

“We all have dubious pasts, so we have a code here.  We don’t _ask_ questions,” Roderich said.  “Otherwise, I would be asking you why you have a brother in the military and if you’re connected to the military too.  Though anyone who isn’t a fool can see that you’ve been thrown _out._   I bet _that’s_ a tale for the ages.  But you don’t see me asking.  Because it’s none of my concern. _”_

Gilbert grit his teeth.  “It’s about Lovino.  So it is my concern.  Very very much so my concern.”

“Oh, so you’ve finally seen the light, have you,” he finally said.  “Then you’ll admit that he’s a danger to us all and should be turned in.”  That same wheedling tone.

Gilbert bristled and tightened his fist around a clump of laundry to stop himself from decking him in the jaw.  He spat bullets for words.  “Look.  I don’t know who you think you are.  But you know something that I want to know.  You say you’ve seen him do the things you claim he can do.  Then tell me.  Corrado and your crew captured him, didn’t you.  What did you do to him.  And what the hell is a ‘creator’?”

It took Roderich a minute to process this, and when he realized the extent of Gilbert’s knowledge, his face paled.  He adjusted his spectacles.  His throat bobbed.  “Just how do you know so much.  What has he remembered.”

“That I don’t feel like disclosing,” Gilbert said.  “But this is of the utmost importance.”

“We did capture him,” Roderich said.  He waved his hand as if to make light of it—but his pupils constricted in terror at the way Gilbert’s body tensed to strike.  He dropped the shirt he’d been trying to pin.  It shot across the deck and swept over the edge in a sudden gust of wind.

“Hey!  _Watch it—_ ” Lili stood, dagger in hand.  “That was my favourite blouse!”

All of the crew but Antonio gaped at her sudden outburst. 

“He’ll buy you another one out of pocket,” Antonio shouted.  His voice, even at a yell, was barely audible over the wind.  “Won’t you.”  His eyes narrowed.

“Of course,” Roderich said, making a show of preening.  “Quite an accident.”  He waited til she settled down again.  “Look,” he continued, “this creator you speak of was the one who could fix the damage he caused.  Corrado shot him through the heart.  He is dead.”  His attitude left him with a long exhale.  “He was a child.  They both were children.  So don’t you think for a moment that I like what happened.”

“And yet you let it happen,” Gilbert said.  “And that really doesn’t answer my question about Lovino.  What _happened_ once you _took_ him.”

“He escaped,” Roderich said.  “Little brat ripped most of the men into shreds, including Corrado.  Mentally _gone_.  Blood poured from their eyes and mouths as they convulsed on the ground.  By then soldiers came pouring in.  You don’t raid any section of Volare—even the grounded tier—and expect to get away with it.”  He grabbed on to the basket for support, like recalling the story taxed him physically and mentally. 

“So there is no one left but you who knows about Lovino.”

“I think he’s a threat,” Roderich said.  “I told you.  I saw what he can do.  Outside threats aside, he himself can rip you apart from the inside-out.”

“He was acting in self-defense—“ Gilbert snarled.  “Anybody can see that.”

“Fine.  Corrado was answering to someone above him.  Who pointed him in that direction.  Someone who seemed to have a plan.  That man is still out there.  And he is pulling strings.  I think, to this day, he intended the massacre in the Grounded Tier to happen.  And he knows where Lovino is right now and how to force him back into the intended purpose.  The destroyer is destined to destroy.  No one can _change_ that—and that’s why you need to turn him in.  For his own safety and the safety of those around him.  _Especially yours_.”  Now Roderich just seemed tired.

“Turn him in to be killed?  I don’t think so,” Gilbert hissed.  Still, those scrawled words echoed in his mind.  _His path has been set.  Like clockwork._ Then he’d have to rip the gears to that proverbial bullshit straight out of whatever ‘machine’ had been created, then cast them into a fire.  “Because Lovino’s choices matter.  He’s not a pawn.  Just like I refused to be a pawn, he can too.”

From across the deck, Antonio stood, throwing his arms in the air, despair clear on his face.  Gilbert, tired of this conversation, turned to leave.  “If you do anything to hurt Lovino or bring about his capture, I’ll make you regret it.” 

He joined the others in time to hear Antonio complain.  “You two ganged up on me.  There must have been _cheating_ involved, you bastards!”  Despite his empty purse, there was laughter in his voice and a twinkle in his eye.

Francis and Abel gave each other knowing looks.

“Cheating, no,” Abel said, scooping his portion into his purse.  “Just confirmation that I should be in charge of the money aboard this ship.”

“You’re both on my bad side.  Don’t be too surprised if I make you scrub the deck for this—“

“We scrub the deck anyway,” Francis said.

“Well—uh—no more rum.”

“Well shit,” Abel said, tone indifferent.  “Don’t you have a ship to steer?  Elizabeta’s been at it long enough.  You a captain or what?”

Antonio slapped a fake scowl on his face.  “I will go steer my ship.  And not because you said so.  But because it’s my duty.  As Captain.”  His grin broke through.  “But Abel and Francis?  Watch your backs.”  He wandered to the cabin to relieve Elizabeta of the wheel, where she sat smoking a thin cigar, both hands on the spokes to hold the ship in place against the strong gust of winds.

“Just a warning, the wind is a _bitch._ Getting a really good workout,” Elizabeta said.  She waited til Antonio had a good grip on the wheel, then released it, slapping at her bicep.  “Babies like this don’t just grow overnight.” 

Antonio nodded.  “God help the man you punch in the face.  I suggest Abel if you have the urge!”  He tightened his grip on the wheel, throwing his weight against it as the ship tried to veer sharply to the left.  “This _wind_.  Wow.  How far til Kayma?”

“An hour or so,” Elizabeta said, indicating their location on the map.  “We should be around here.”  She double-checked through her binoculars.  “Pretty sure I already saw the Eastern Cliffs.”

“Good progress,” he said, dismissing her.

She passed by the crew members and plopped down in the spot Antonio had been in.  She grinned at Abel.  “You robbed him blind, didn’t you!”

“Fair and square,” he said.

Gilbert took a spot near Lili.  “Do feel free to gut Roderich for losing your shirt.”

“If he doesn’t buy me a new one, then maybe,” she answered.  “I’ve never been one for senseless gutting.”

\--

Lovino stumbled from his room.  He felt sick from a combination of the wind and a writhing sense of dread that sapped the warmth from the sun.  His body shuddered between hot and cold.  He leaned from the deck, desperate but unable to heave the contents of his stomach.

Roderich glanced over at him from where he was standing, hands resting on the rail.  The bird he’d just released struggled against wind that yanked it downward.

“You look absolutely horrendous,” he said.

Lovino coughed over the edge and sank down onto the floor.  “Seasick,” he lied.  “The hell are _you_ doing?”

“Sending a letter,” Roderich said.

Lovino groaned. “To who.”

“Some friends I need to catch up with,” Roderich said.  He slipped the rest of his parchment back into his pocket.

Lovino nodded slowly, resting his arms on his knees and then his chin on his arm.  “I want to send a letter…”

“Then do so,” Roderich said.  “We have birds that are specifically trained to provide such services, heaven knows _how_.  Intelligent little winged rodents.”

“I don’t know where I would send it or what I would say,” Lovino muttered. 

“Well, that _is_ a problem,” Roderich said dismissively.  “The birds are useless to you then.”  He left. 

The ring was a pinprick of coolness in his palm.  If he concentrated hard enough, somewhere between the stench of blood and haze of smoke, he could almost feel himself screaming a name at a falling figure.

“— _Feliciano!”_


	6. Kayma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio and his crew pay a visit to his hometown. It seems Ludwig was not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to attack-on-spoon (@tumblr) for being an awesome beta/headcanon friend
> 
> João=Portugal  
> Chelles=Seychelles
> 
> I asked around tumblr for the names I used b/c I don't think either has an official name?
> 
> Next chapter has a masquerade ball and Ludwig things. And Prumano being dorks and attempting to flirt. Yakno.

Kayma was a village sprawled in the center of dried prairie several days journey from the ocean town they’d visited. By the time they reached its epicenter, the wind had died into a slight breeze that rustled grasses visible for miles.  The air, rather than pure, was bogged with smoke, also visible in the distance.  Taking great care, Antonio landed his ship just outside of town, but anchored it very securely to a large bolder placed for that purpose.  He left it sitting at least ten feet in the air.

“…Why so high up?” Elizabeta asked.  She slipped down the rope ladder like it was nothing.

Antonio landed beside her and took the group fifteen feet to where a stark border between charred ashes and fresh grass flowed like a lackadaisical scribble.  “I don’t want my ship catching fire and roasting.”

“…What?” Gilbert asked, kneeling beside the line.  Grass crumbled in his hand as soot.

Abel snorted.  “The grass around here…produces certain oils that allow them to burn constantly.  Depending on the strength and direction of the wind, flames travel around here.  And because of the growth rate, new grass grows within a few hours.”  He took a few steps then placed his hand against the ground.  “Still very warm.  This was on fire probably an hour ago.”

Antonio nodded.  “See, that was a very scientific explanation right there.”

“I actually pick up a book once in a while,” Abel said.

Antonio pursed his lips.  “You were researching me!”

“Could care less about you,” Abel muttered, “Was more curious about the town.  Didn’t know I’d get to see it one day.”

“So there’s…constant fire,” Gilbert said, “And nobody thought to try to put it out?  Instead they let it roam free?  What about the town.”

Antonio took them to the border of town, which was guarded by a wall of tall boulders protected by an empty moat.  The town itself was a crop of buildings that towered overhead, cramped in such a confined space.

 “The town is in no danger.”  Antonio plunked down into the moat and crawled across the other side to scale a boulder.  He sat atop it, legs crossed.  “Plus have you tried to put out fire that catches oil?  That’s a bad idea.  The mines under here just create new fires anyway.  It’s not a problem, so there’s no need to fix it.”  He grinned brightly, “It makes the town special in a way.”

Gilbert glanced back and worth.  “Wait.  Where’s Lovino?”

“Must not have heard that we landed,” Antonio said.  “I’ll…uh…go find him. Francis will lead you where you need to go.”

Francis scrambled out past the moat and over the rock.  “There’s a little stone bridge somewhere to the right, but that involves walking there, and you know how sky pirates feel about walking.”  He chuckled to himself, like appreciating a private joke.

The town was a jumble of wooden, cylindrical structures, with roofs fanning out between stacked layers, sometimes connecting to adjacent circles where they would have overlapped.  Sloping gently, these roofs were like streets; People walked on all levels, climbing ladders to other stories or emerging from windows to hook laundry to lines spanning building to building.  In several locations, families sat outside to eat flatbread and beanmash in the coolness of night.  Fire pits crackled.  Chatter permeated the air.

“Wow,” Gilbert breathed.  In all his years of marching as a soldier—and the intense variety of towns he’d seen—he’d never seen anything quite like this.  They walked under it, in what were circular, twisting alleyways caught beneath the edges of the roofs where they could see no stars.  The clatter of footprints was loud overhead.

Francis grinned.  “It really is a cool town,” he said.  “The fire often closes into a tight circle around the moat, so there is no room for expansion.  That in mind, they built upwards.  It’s where Antonio and I grew up, so we have a certain degree of loyalty to some of the people here.  He…wanted to bring his brother some money, to help with taxes.”  He found a metal rod of a ladder and started climbing up.

The crew followed and emerged through a little square opening on one roof.

“Francis—“ came a shout.

Francis, suddenly sheepish, smiled back at a waving girl.  “Hello to you too, Chelles.  Go find João for me?  Antonio should be along in a few minutes.  We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Okay!” She scampered off, disappearing into a nearby window.

“I think we should find a place to stay,” Francis said.  “We might be here a few days.”

“You have family here too?” Gilbert asked.  “You said you grew up here.”

Francis shook his head.  “Antonio was my family here,” he said.  “He and his brother sort of took me under his wing when I showed up here.”  He chuckled a bit.  “My family is from a major city sort of crammed into the desert area, near Rüs actually.  Unable to feed us all, they kicked me out of the house as soon as I was able to fend for myself on the streets.  I suppose in the end it’s worth it, since they had my two younger brothers to feed.  Heaven knows what’s become of them now, but I’ve only ever wished them the best.” 

He shrugged lightly and started off toward the center of the town, taking it roof by roof.  “There were no opportunities for me in that city, so I left to find my own.  Sometimes you have to be proactive when it comes to making your own luck.  My luck started when I first met Antonio fifteen years ago.”

“I wouldn’t call meeting Antonio lucky, but whatever,” Abel said.

Francis pinched his side, “We all know you secretly at least appreciate him.”

“You’re delusional,” Abel said. 

Belle seemed completely at home in this eccentric town, walking for the first time without glancing for enemies.  She bobbed her head to the tinny vibration of strings coming from a nearby roof, where young boys—covered head to toe with ashes—sat cradling oblong instruments as they gobbled up a skewered mash of meat and grain.  She scurried ahead to Francis’s pace, eager to drink everything in.

“That’s how I felt the first time I saw this too,” Francis told her.  He pointed to a jointed tower with a ladder stitched up one side.  “That there?  That’s the look-out.  You can see miles along the prairie, keep track of the movement of the fire, spy on the birds.”

Gilbert grinned.  “We should pay it a visit.”  He frowned.  Lovino would have loved to hear something like that.  The bastard climbed as naturally as he walked.  What was taking Antonio so long? 

A heaviness hung in his chest.  He had a guess as to what was bothering him—the same thing that gnawed at his own consciousness, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.  _I only made things worse_ , he realized.  How did he expect to protect one man when he’d already failed to protect an entire village?  _History repeats itself, like clockwork._   He held his breath to avoid the anxiety twisting in his stomach.

Through his haze, he didn’t quite register that the group had stopped.  He’d walked into Abel’s back, who only turned to clap a hand on his shoulder to keep him from losing his footing.

“Uh, thanks,” Gilbert managed.

Abel nodded.  “Should pay attention to where you’re walking.”

Chelles sat under the window that a dark haired man leaned out of.  Long hair swept back in a ponytail.  Ashes and scars marred a face slightly more angular than but very similar to Antonio’s.  One scar slashed across his right eye.  He turned his head and snorted in greeting but, when he did not see Antonio, his face fell. 

He climbed through the window like a cat and walked to Francis.  “Where is Antonio.  Chelles did not say you would be delivering bad news.  If he’s dead, bring me his ashes so I can slap them.”

“I see you haven’t changed much, João,” Francis said.  “A bit taller, older, maybe.”

“Cut to the chase.”  Dark eyes narrowed.

“Antonio is not dead,” Francis reassured him.  “In fact, he’ll be along shortly.”

João’s shoulders visibly relaxed.  “Good.  Don’t you dare scare me like that again.”

\--

Antonio was never much of a lockpick, but he’d managed once or twice before, so he felt confident enough to jimmy the door to Lovino’s cabin open with just the flat of his blade.  It took several minutes and deep gouges into the surface of the knob to gain entry.

He found Lovino curled in his bed, the metallic bird locked into his arms.  He slept feverishly, exhaustion cutting deep circles under his eyes.

“Lovino,” Antonio said.  Gently.  He rested a hand on his shoulder.  “We’ve arrived.  C’mon.  No one stays aboard the ship.  Especially not in Kayma.  It’s the safest place I know.”

Lovino opened his eyes.  It took a few minutes for Antonio’s face to sharpen in his vision.  He sat up, groggy.  “I just want to sleep,” he groaned.

“Not an option.  Captain’s orders,” Antonio said, though he did help him down and wrap an arm around him.  “I know…that something is going on.  But, I guarantee you that once you’ve had good food in your stomach, you’ll be better able to deal with whatever it is.  You have to take care of yourself.  And, as Captain, I will make sure that my crew is healthy.”

Lovino only groaned again.  “What, you’re not going to demand answers?”

“We all have dubious pasts,” Antonio said.  “I never demand explanation for anything that is not directly harmful to this crew or our mission.  This is a safe place and has always been.  We all had to restart for one reason or another.  You can’t do so around people who see you through the eyes of your mistakes.”

He squeezed gently. 

“You really think that people can just throw all the shit from their past away?” Lovino asked.  “And just…just start over like nothing happened?”

Antonio shrugged a bit and started leading him from the room and out onto the deck.  “We all pay for our sins one way or another, but they do not define us unless we let them.”

“The hell does that change _anything._ Sounds like a bunch of running away,” Lovino said.

“Maybe,” Antonio said, “But we all must learn from our mistakes and rebuild.  It’s our choices that lead us into the future.  Not our pasts.  Otherwise, when would we ever claw our way out of the cage of guilt and regret?  The miraculous but commonly forgotten thing is that people change.  And people decide for themselves what they are and what they want to become.”

 He lifted Lovino’s chin with one finger to get him to meet his eyes, his own earnest.  “Did you know I was born in a circumstance where I would have spent my whole life a slave to the mines that burrow under these prairies?  It took a lot of mistakes, but I figured out that that was not the sole purpose to my life, so I left it and paved my own way.”

“My shit isn’t that simple,” Lovino said.

“Maybe not,” Antonio said.  “That still doesn’t excuse you from eating supper.  C’mon.”

They dropped into the grass to find that the line between the dead and the living had ceased.  Green, tall grass swayed with a slight gust of wind for as far as they could see.

But the ground was hot, even through their shoes

“The mine fires are flaring up…” Antonio said.

Flames swept from the distance in a fluttering wave, like the tide lapping up on a shore, fire as languid as flowing water.  The tang of burning smoke thickened the air.  Blades of burning grass passed the fire back and forth as the wind beckoned.

“ _Holy shit—_ “  Lovino made a run for it.

Antonio grabbed his collar from behind, stumbling slightly, but halting the other.  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “It moves really slowly.  And it’s natural.  Just walk with me back to the city.”

“The fucking prairie is on fucking _fire_ —“  He covered his mouth with one arm, coughing harshly. 

“Yes.  It is,” Antonio said.  He kept a hand on his shoulder and led him off toward the outcrop of buildings.  Fire crackled and hummed behind them. 

Lovino stared backwards over his shoulder.

“It’s part of the prairie.  It might be extremely dangerous, but in a way we’ve adapted to it, and now we just find it beautiful.  It’s a weird harmony, but we appreciate it.”

“Hnnnn.”

By the time they reached João’s little house, the crew had sprawled out over his roof, munching on strips of dried meat that had been smoked in little chambers set up along the prairie.  It was tough and sinewy, but the natural flavor of the smoked grasses and salt made it delicious if not chewy.

João rose to his feet as soon as Antonio’s first foot fell into his territory.  He advanced on him.  “The next thing better than slapping your ashes is my slapping your actual face.  You allowed them to mislead me into thinking you were dead.”

Antonio blinked.  “I never told them to do anything of the sort, brother.”  He grinned, “You were worried?”

“Hell no,” João muttered.  He tutted softly, a sour expression muddling across his features, but eyes bright.  He reached to scratch at the back of his neck.  “You’d like the attention too much if I was, you spoiled brat.”

“I probably would,” Antonio admitted. 

He accepted a strip of meat from Francis, and passed half of it along to Lovino, who immediately slumped into Gilbert.  The boy rubbed furiously at his eyes with a sleeve, hoping to clear away the sting.

“The fire is approaching,” Antonio informed him.

“Nothing gets past you, does it,” João quipped, sniffing the air.  He scoffed and went to lean against the wall.  “So what made you decide to come back?  And don’t change the subject.”

“I brought money to help this town pay its taxes for the next 6 month period,” Antonio said simply, waving his hand like that sum of money was nothing, though he lowered his voice and pulled his brother to the side, just around the wall from the rest of his group.

João bristled.  “So you really did run off to become a pirate, then.  And how exactly am I supposed to be proud of a thieving younger brother?”

Antonio shrugged.  “Didn’t say you had to be.  I’m just keeping the young out of the mines the best I can.  You know what happened to our father.  I won’t let it happen to some innocent kid.  Just take the money.”

João spat to the side, wiping grime from his eyes with his arm.  “We are perfectly able to fend for ourselves.  If you’d really wanted to help, you wouldn’t have left us.”

“Nothing was going to get better or change,” Antonio said.

“There was one less person to protect the younger boys.  The ones who aren’t _strong_ enough to deal with the sweltering conditions of heavy labor in those mines.  Boys who have _died_ trying to earn money to feed their families.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to take this money—“ Antonio insisted.  “They won’t _have_ to mine.”

“It’s not that simple and it’s never been that simple,” João spat.  “They’re going to wonder where we got all that money.  They’ll know it wasn’t from the mine when output of Silf decreases.  Their only goal here is to get the precious metal.  That’s where their profit comes in—not from the measly taxes they charge to keep us just poor enough to resort to working for them.”  His chest rose and fell with the frustration that he felt.  He kept his fists curled at his side. 

“It’ll at least ease the burden, then,” Antonio said.  He spoke in a whisper.  “As apology for leaving, but not as a sign of regret for what I did.”

Francis skirted around the building as well, hearing the hushed argument.  “You both have too much pride,” he said.

“No one asked you,” João muttered.

Francis shrugged.  “I suppose not.”  He put a hand on Antonio’s elbow.  “So you won’t take the money then?”

João tossed his head.  “Hell no.”

“Then, tell us what it is that we can do to help while we are here,” Francis said.  He tightened his grip just slightly, until Antonio nodded.

“I don’t know.”  João said tersely.  “For all Antonio’s stupid idealism, there really isn’t anything that _can_ be done.  Not every problem has a solution.”

Antonio, who had been staring at the ground, jerked his head up.  “That’s not the brother I know.  Who is saying those words in his place?  You’re the one who taught me to fight for what I wanted.”

“When you have to fight for survival, let’s just say that beggars can’t be choosers,” João said.  He looked away.

Antonio hesitated.  “João…?  What’s happened?  Something bad happened and you’re not telling me.”

João swallowed.  “Aren’t you a fast one.”

This time, Antonio broke free from Francis’s hold and put both hands on either of his older brother’s shoulders.  “You are bitter about what I did, and maybe rightly so.  But I am your brother.  And nothing will change my love for you, no matter how far we drift apart or disagree.  I will do what I can to help you.  Regardless.  So tell me what’s happened.”

“They’ve demanded increased output,” João finally said, after a lengthy pause.  “The owner of the mines is getting greedy, and the king’s army is paying handsomely for new weapons and armour made from Silf.  Boys are now working fifteen to sixteen hours a day.”

Antonio chewed on his bottom lip.  “That’s inhumane.”

“Do you really think they stop to consider whether they’re treating us like humans?” João said.  “They’ve raised food prices to force us into this new schedule.  And god knows there’s nothing to be hunted on this prairie to supplement, not with the fire burning like it is, and now twice as intense and covering twice the area it used to now that the mine burrows further.”

“What can I…do about it?” Antonio asked.  Cautiously.  He kept his hands firm on his brother’s shoulders. 

The other slumped forward just slightly, as if finally accepting his gesture of comfort.  It was obvious in the way he swayed as he stood, and the sagging features trapped beneath the film of soot, that he was exhausted.  His breaths came in quiet little wheezes.  His eyes watered red from irritation.

“There is nothing _to_ be done,” João said.  “I’ve told you.  We just have to survive.  We can’t _all_ just hop aboard ships and fly away to be renegades.”

“You haven’t spilled everything,” Antonio said with a start.  “There is still something you’re not spilling and I _know_ it because I know _you.”_

João groaned a little bit and wiped at his eyes again.  “Burial.  At dusk.”

Antonio tensed.  “Whose?”

“Five boys,” João said.  His teeth chattered as he spoke.  “Caught in a cave-in that lit up.  Suffocated by smoke.  Good kids.”  His voice cracked.

The other blanched.  “Oh god…”  He caught João as he finally surrendered to his fatigue, and held him tight against his chest.  The pair trembled.  Antonio rubbed his back.  “Then we’ll…send their spirits off to burn and…and…figure out what’s next…”

\--

The burial was a somber affair.  There was no digging into the oil coated grasses, lest they accidentally sparked an explosion of raging inferno from pockets of redhot Silf.  Instead, they took advantage of the wandering vein of fire as it crackled along the grass.  The bodies, wrapped in sheets, were laid in a row then doused with oil.  Under the pale, smoky night sky, they lit up in balls of flame.

The citizens of the little town of Kayma stood with their heads bowed, steady against the blistering heat as it consumed their dead.  Tears ran tracks through soot.  Smoke agitated nostrils and eyes. 

No words were spoken until the last of the bodies decayed to ashes and the flames, finding nothing more to feed on, traveled on with a solitary gust of wind which raked sparks on the procession.  They threw the ends of fireproof cloaks in front of their bodies but backed off.

They looked at João to speak, and that was when Antonio realized that they saw him as the leader.

He took a step forward, seeming twice the man that he was when Antonio had left him the first time.

“Their spirits burn free with the flames that consume this land,” he said, simply.  Never much of one for words, especially when his voice cracked the way it did.  He retreated from the flames to join his brother.  “I was thinking about what you said.”

“What is it that you need me to do, then?” Antonio asked.  “Anything.”

“It’s a risk,” João said.  “A huge risk.”

“My crew lives for risks.”

“I want to take that mine,” João said. “For Kayma.”

“You mean…steal it?”

“Those profits are _ours_.  For generations, we’ve lived and died in those mines.  The man who owns the mine lives in a town a few hours south, the town that Francis says he’s originally from.  I want him dead.  I don’t care.  I just want him _dead_.  Him and all affiliated with him.”  He crushed a clump of grass with a livid twist of his foot.  “Then.  Then we can call our own shots.  And stop these outrageous demands.”

“You are right, it is very risky,” Antonio agreed.  Fervor lit in his eyes.  “But my men are good.  And we’ll get it done.”

“Just don’t fuck it up,” João warned.  “Because then it’s the end for us.”

“I will speak to my crew,” Antonio said.

His crew had been standing behind the line of the procession, staring somberly at the ground, unwilling to interrupt.  He started toward them, but João grabbed his shoulder.

“Antonio,” he said, “I want to be the one who drives the blade through his heart.  Just help me get close to him.  That’s all I ask.  I would never make my younger brother into a murderer.”

“For my kin, I would become anything,” Antonio said, but he nodded.  “Very well.  Be an honorary member of my crew.”

“I’m not calling you captain,” João said.  “So don’t ask.”

“The ones who do call me that use the word sarcastically,” Antonio admitted.  “You’d fit right in.”

\--

They met inside João’s house, which they reached by taking a few ladders up to the appropriate level of the city then climbing in through the window.  The room was round, with a low table surrounded by cushions and a little metal bin where he kept most of his preserved meats and a few dried turnips.  He’d hung a few paintings on the wall, his own work, which he dismissed humbly when asked about.  His firepit, a metal tube with wired grating, sat just outside his window.  He shared it with several neighbors on adjacent rooftops, and they’d often sit outside eating and chattering.

“Remember when it was you, me, Francis, and father sleeping in this one little room?” Antonio asked.

“There are things I try to forget,” João said.

Abel raised both eyebrows, impressed.  Though the room was fairly large, it felt cramped with the entirety of the crew spread out leaned against its walls.

Lovino, still uneasy, had found an amazing distraction in the architecture of this city, and the easy vitality that flowed even from such tired, worn out people.  The soot that coated them did not choke them out.

“Okay,” Antonio started.  “Then plan.”  They spoke quietly.  There was little to no privacy between rooms and rooftops, but with the somber air, most of the town had retreated into their own little corners.  Not many footfalls clattered across the shingles.

“So, the ultimate goal here is to win back our mines and our livelihood,” João said.  “One way or another.”

Antonio nodded.  “In order to be the undisputed owners, you’re going to need the deed of ownership to it.”

“And the bodies of our oppressors burning in our grasses,” João muttered.

Roderich shuddered.  “Harsh.”

“Better them than us,” João said, eyes hard.

The ex-noble looked away.

“The fire is hungry,” Antonio agreed, reciting a childhood mantra, “It will consume what it must.”

João had been mouthing the words along with a slight nod of his head.  “But getting to that foul pig will be difficult.  We cannot outmatch the soldiers who he brings to the mines, so attacking there would be a death wish.”

“True,” Antonio said.

“Just…go to where he lives,” Lovino said. 

João opened his mouth then closed it, then opened it again, as he considered this.  “I am assuming he lives in Kito, but that city is dense.  Finding him would be near impossible.”

Elizabeta stood.  “Then you wanted to catch him and his guards in a chamber in the mines, rig it so it collapses in on them, then light that bastard to high hell?”  She exchanged grins with Lili. 

“And endanger the kids working those mines?”  João shook his head, firmly.  “No.”  He paced the floor, each step punctuated with the creak of wood.  He stopped at the table and stared down at the knots in its surface, then turned so suddenly that he almost smacked Antonio in the face.  “Wait.  _Wait_.  I was in the city delivering our taxes to the Overseer’s office when I heard talk of a high society little… _thing_ going on.”

Antonio, catching himself as he stumbled back, snapped his finger, nodding fervently.  “Figure out just when and where this party is and get him alone.  Make him take us to his place of residence and sort out matters for ourselves.”

Roderich groaned his disapproval.  He wrung his hands, brows furrowed.  “Murder, though?  This isn’t what we stand for.”

João made a harsh motion with his hand, clicking his tongue with impatience.  “ _I_ will be the one to kill him.  Your hands will remain clean.”

“As clean as an accessory to murder can possibly _be_ ,” Roderich muttered.

“Wouldn’t be any different than the stains already there,” Gilbert hissed.  He felt Lovino tense beside him, but placed a hand on his elbow. 

Only Abel and Belle had been within earshot of the two.  They both turned to stare.

With the sound of a caged animal, Lovino only pulled away, sharply, and climbed from the window.  His footsteps retreated.  Gilbert did not follow, but he felt guilt coil tighter within his chest, like an overworked spring.

Antonio shot them all a questioning look.  Abel shrugged.  He turned back to his brother, looking hesitant and uneasy, but determined to plan this through. “How do we confirm the time and place, then?”

Gilbert raised his hand with a little swallow.  “Have one of us impersonate someone from high society.”

“If one had something with the right _crest_ then maybe—“

Gilbert sighed.  “True.  I have military regalia still…?”

Antonio shook his head.  “He’s unlikely to be too fond of the king’s dogs.”  He spoke with a contempt that made Gilbert flinch.

From behind Gilbert, Roderich scoffed.

Belle had been sidling toward Gilbert.  She pointed to her ring finger then to his pocket, lips pressed in a thin line as if willing him to understand.  He caught on, pulling the ring from his pocket and handing it off.

She stood and dropped it into Antonio’s palm, then watched intently as he turned it over in his hand.  Unable to see clearly in the dwindling light, he hung half out the window to investigate by the flicker of a lantern hanging outside, which he brought in with him.  He placed it on the table and sat, thinking, while the glow of flame glanced across the walls.  Still, Belle stared.  The shadows pooled in her cheeks sharpened in the increased light.

“This is…definitely a valuable ring,” Antonio said slowly. 

Belle nodded and motioned for him to continue speaking.  She fumed with a sort of impatience, like water fizzling out of a sealed pot. 

Gilbert’s head jerked upward.  He’d been shifting closer to the window, hoping to follow Lovino.  Only halfway there, he waited for Antonio to continue speaking.

“It’s from the Wingless City,” Antonio said, placing it down on the table, the click of metal against wood heavy in the silence.  “That’s all I really know about it.”

“It was from the House of Tehn,” Roderich finally said with a scornful sigh.  He raised his voice to overcome the quiet solemnity of the room, but only intensified it somehow.  Feeling all eyes upon him, he stood, still wringing his hands.  He glanced toward the window, but took a few steps forward.  “One of the upper nobility on the Second Tier.  The family still exists there, but with permanent shame marring their name.  Still, it should be enough to get you into whatever party you want to go to.  Anything from the Wingless City is worth more than the scum nobility clinging to the ground beneath.”

“…Are you meaning to say that you’re familiar with this House?  I’ve never heard of it.” Antonio asked.

“You know the policy,” Roderich snapped.  “I will not answer questions about my past if those questions aren’t pertinent to the safety of your so-called crew.”  He looked at Gilbert.  His eyes narrowed into slits, daring him to speak out against him.

“Very well,” Antonio said.  “Fair enough.”

Belle’s shoulders relaxed, but a look of sour disappointment pressed her lips into an even thinner line.  She threw her hands up in the air and stormed back to Abel, who only raised a brow. 

João processed all this information silently before speaking.  “So one of you needs to wear that ring and get the information.  The lower nobility would probably kowtow and all that shit to have someone with high standing attend their party, I’m sure.  If that’s how that all works.”  His smirk was more bemused than anything, but he spoke quickly with confidence.  “Then we crash this party and get what we came for.  This is better than I expected it to be.”

“I’ll wear the ring,” Roderich sneered, snatching it up from the table.  “I am the only one with the mannerisms believable enough for this.”

João frowned, but Antonio merely nodded.  “I have no reason not to trust you in this.  But please keep it that way.”  He seemed tired.

With that, the meeting adjourned. 

Gilbert, desperate to find Lovino, tumbled from the window in a tangle of ill-placed limbs.  He rolled, groaning, then scrambled to his feet and walked quickly cross the rooftops, keeping a quiet lookout for any long shapes.  He found the other sitting with his feet dangling off the edge of a roof just one tier above them.

“I was still listening to the meeting,” Lovino said.  “Sound carries.”

Gilbert deposited himself in the space next to him.  In the silence, he pumped his legs back and forth, leaning back slightly, hands behind him for support.  His fingertips brushed Lovino’s.  “Hey,” he said.

“What?” Lovino grunted.

“Roderich admitted that—“

“The ring is from the House of Tehn?  I know,” Lovino said.  “I said I was _listening_.  My attacker wore that ring.  One of them.”

“Corrado…?”

Lovino shook his head.  “No…he had the wrong face.  I think.  How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Is there any way…that Belle would have seen that ring?” Gilbert asked.  “Living in Rüs, which is easily the farthest fucking thing away from Volare.”

Lovino shrugged.  “I don’t _know_ okay.  I hardly know my first name.  Don’t ask me hard questions.”  He grunted.  His head thudded into Gilbert’s arm none too gently, but he kept it there.

“Then I’ll ask you an easy question,” Gilbert said.

Lovino only hummed in response.

“Want to crash a fancy party with me?”

“Gilbird will be your date.  Don’t like parties.”

 _“Flametalon_ will not.  You will.”  Gilbert poked at his side til the other squirmed, then wrapped an arm around to squeeze him.  “Think of all the pockets you could pick.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Lovino finally said.

Gilbert’s lips only stretched into a wide grin.  “And you don’t think that we have bags of money for that very purpose?  This is a mission.  Expenses like that are part of the deal.”

\--

The following evening, as the ‘foul pig’ marked the day’s final inventory of Silf mined, Roderich approached him in a carriage that João had arranged to send in a wide sweep around the town, to make it appear as if it had traveled from another direction.  Its wheels, made from heavy stone, made traveling slow—and exhausted the horses—but prevented it from catching fire over patches of dwindling flame.  The wind did not blow this day, so the flames did not travel, but rather sat stewing in the sluggish heat.

The soldiers that kept a patrol of the area acknowledged him with a little nod, one among them watching him carefully but keeping silent until his business was done.

Roderich acknowledged him with a glance, but walked to the supervisor of the mine.  “Hello, I have been traveling a long way and—“ he brushed dirt from his shoulder.  The ring flashed.  “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of Kito.”

The supervisor realized he was staring, then put his clipboard and pen into a little carrier case and folded everything up.  He secured the strap to his shoulder, holding it there with one hand.  His own ring, an iron band, was lackluster in comparison, the opal dim and colourless.  “You are…you are far from home.”

“Quite,” Roderich said.  “And I will need accommodation.”

They spoke quietly while the boys from the mines emerged coughing up gobs of black tar, wiping streaks of the soot from their eyes so that they could see.  João worked with him, but because the mines had so many cracks and small crevices, only boys could squeeze past to most of the tunnels to do the hardest of the work.  They carried out Silf in jugs sealed with clay and cloth.  It sloshed, piping hot, across their containers, warming the walls til they glowed.  The boys grimaced but kept a steady pace; dropping the metal—which was mined as a liquid—would result in lashings.  Once they’d deposited their load, they hobbled home in groups, supporting each other.

Finished with his business, Roderich turned as if to leave.  Ludwig met him behind his carriage.

“I got your message.  I am dubious about what it is that you want me to do.  I need confirmation before I act.  This…is not easy for me to do.”

“Betraying a brother never is.  Interesting coincidence, but I promise you it was purely that.  Your brother does like to stumble into the thick of things, doesn’t he.”

“A penchant that worries me,” Ludwig mumbled.  “I just hope he’s not attached to the boy.  I already feel like enough of a monster as it is.”

“Remember, he betrayed you first.”  Roderich raised both eyebrows, but held up the hand with the ring.  “And this is confirmation enough.  It was in the boy’s possession.”

Ludwig blinked.  “That’s…the king’s.”  He ran his hands through his hair, sheltering the beginnings of a headache as he rubbed at his temples.  “How does that prove anything?  He likely stole it.”

“The King would know, I’m sure,” Roderich said.  “Take it back to him and ask him.  That will be the confirmation that you or he needs.  As for the boy—“

“Shoot first, ask questions later.  I get it,” Ludwig said.  He licked his lips, throat suddenly dry.  “What do the pirates know of the boy or that ring?”

“Nothing of the boy, nothing of the ring.  I fed them a little lie or two.  You can make your move at the upcoming masquerade.”

He nodded once with a sharp intake of breath.  “The sooner this is over, the better.”

 


	7. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio and his crew attend a masquerade to assassinate the owner of the mine. They aren't the only ones there with shady business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time figuring out where to draw the chapter line; I almost dumped a 9000 word chapter on you all. Then I thought about doing a 7 and 7.5 dealio. Then I thought, whatever, I'll just split it after around 6000 words and call it a day. Not trying to bombard anyone with a wall of text. Plus consistency and all that. 
> 
> Tbh, ch 7 and 8 are my favs, mostly because MASQUERADES MAN and some serious prumano relationship building going on. 
> 
> As always, a big thanks to tumblr user attack-on-spoon for beta-ing plot/characterization. She's basically making me rewrite a huge chunk of Ch 16 because she is a strict meanie. Just so you know. (Nah, she speaks the truth and I am so lost without her advice.)
> 
> Um, update around **May 28th-ish?** Can we make this a Wednesday thing? Let's make it a Wednesday thing. Because fuck that shit, Wednesday should not be pronounced the way that it is. God I need to go to bed.

João only traveled to Kito when he had taxes to pay, but this time he and Antonio loaded up the money from the heist into the rear of the cart, then piled in.  He’d spoken to a group of older teenagers before he climbed into the driver’s box to take the reins. 

“I want you to watch this city in my absence.  Protect the people with your lives.”  He clucked at the horses and they pushed forward.

The cart lurched and swayed on its stone wheels, wooden frame creaking.  The crew members, crammed in a small space and sweating, hung their legs out over the sides where the canvas cloth puckered against the base.

The wind was strong today.  Several times it nearly tipped the wagon over; it would teeter dangerously on just two wheels, until João whipped the reins and the heavy-footed workhorses pulled harder.  The flames lapped up against the sides, following in the tracks where the wheels ground the grass into pulp and the oil settled into the wells they made.  The cart itself did not catch fire.

“This is going to be a long ride,” João warned. 

Antonio groaned and thunked his head against his brother’s shoulder, til the other shoved him off.

“Traveling on the ground, though?  I have an airship.  We’d be there in half an hour,” Antonio said.

“Can you say obvious as hell?” João said.  “We don’t have air trade in Kito.  Everything goes out through the tunnels in the mountains where government marked ships pick it up at the Cliffs.  A ship this far would only cause a stir.  And they’d know it was damn pirates.”

Antonio only groaned again and this time leaned his head against the frame instead.  His teeth chattered from its vibration.  “I hope Francis and Elizabeta take care of my love.”

“Stop talking about that damn hunk of flying metal like it’s a woman.  It’s an inanimate object,” Abel muttered, “We all know you’re gay anyway”

“Maybe my ship is a man,” Antonio quipped.  “You don’t know.  And my passion takes many forms.”

Abel only scoffed.

“There is no reasoning with my little brother,” João said.  “He’s always been as weird as fuck.”

Abel snorted his appreciation.  “At least _one_ Carriedo is sane.”

“Maybe not sane, but at least not _weird,_ ” João agreed.

The entirety of the ride, Lovi sat with his head against Gilbert’s shoulder, hands idly running over the rivets along Gilbird’s wings while the creature scratched gently at his thumb with minute claws. 

“Gilbert,” Lovino finally said.  His ass hurt from the constant jolt of the wagon and the battle of poor suspension with clumps of grass and a heavy load.

The other glanced sideways at him.  “Hmm?”  He fought a terrible urge to take Lovino’s free hand in his own and trace along the knuckles.  He was just so dozy that his guard was down.  He wondered how the other would react. 

“About that damn book and everything,” he continued, “I’m…I’m not going to worry about it.  Or let it bother me.”

Gilbert sat up just a little bit straighter.  He could not think of a proper response.

“Whatever the hell any of that was, it’s the past.  So, fuck it.  I’m not bound by that shit.  I’m going to do whatever the hell I think is best and make my own path.”  He looked at Antonio as he spoke, though the groan of the wagon covered his soft voice.

Gilbert felt that same flash of fear from before.  The words on the page.  _Like clockwork._ He sucked in a breath.  “…And if you’re in danger?”

“Have I ever even so much as harmed _anyone_ here?” Lovino asked.  “No.  Like maybe I do have these powers, but I am not going to hurt anyone.  That’s not who I am.”

Gilbert finally brushed his hand against Lovino’s.  He calmed down in spite of himself.  “I trust you.”

“No one…has ever said anything like that to me before,” Lovino breathed.  He slapped at Gilbert’s hand, ears tinged red.  “Oi, don’t get sappy before a mission.”

“You started it,” Gilbert said.  He felt lighter yet heavier all at once.  Conflicted lungs did not know how to correctly draw a breath.  He distracted himself by taking his bird and going through his joints to help brush out stray grains of sand that might hinder its movement.  “And stop spoiling Gilbird—“ 

Gilbert clapped a hand to his mouth.

“You called him Gilbird.  HA.”

“…Shit.”  The bird went belly up and pawed at Gilbert’s hand, chirping indignantly until he rubbed the cool metal there.  “Fine.  Whatever.  I still think it’s an obnoxious name.”

They arrived with aching backsides and stiff spines, tumbling out onto rosy cobblestone streets to stretch and crack their necks.  Abel spat out a few choice words as he tried to pop his back into place. 

Antonio had divided the money up into small bags.  “Okay.  Since this money is toward the mission…knock yourselves out and go crazy.  We have to look like we _belong_ at a high society event.  That means formal wear.  Dresses for the ladies, suits for the men.  And masks.  This is a masquerade, after all, and it provides the perfect cover.”

“Rich people are weird as hell.  Go to a party and hide behind a mask?” Abel shook his head, hands akimbo like ‘god help me’.  “Damn waste of money.”

 “Like there’s any disguising your spiky excuse for hair and your bad attitude,” Roderich said, face flushed with excitement. 

Abel flipped him off but otherwise ignored him.  “Plus with the damn masks how are you supposed to get laid?”

“Makes one night stands easier.  Anonymous means less shame and no strings attached.” João offered with a little shrug.  He snickered to himself.  “If you can stand a woman drenched in perfume and the expectations of high society, I guess.  Probably some kind of shameful stigma behind having sex, knowing that lot.” 

“Load of bullshit,” Abel muttered.

Belle snorted.

Antonio put his palms out, bemused.  “Calm down, crew.  Split up as you like.  You already know the address and should have memorized the map.  Buy what you need but report back to the cart in three hours.  We’ll need to be with Roderich to enter.  Without the ring, our cover holds no weight.”

Lovino grabbed Gilbert by the elbow and forcibly dragged him down the street.  The other staggered behind, hardly able to keep up, and desperate to keep a tight hold to the little bag of coins that Antonio had dropped in his hand.  “O-Oi, wait a fuckin second, stop walking so fast—dammit—Lovi—“

He crashed into Lovino when he stopped.

“We have to buy clothes,” Lovino said.  “I’ve never bought clothes before.  So we can’t mess it up.”

Kito was comprised of winding alleyways moreso than streets, which twisted in little spirals deep into the city, flanked by shop fronts and stacked apartment buildings.  Layers of clotheslines crisscrossed overhead, contents fluttering in a light breeze.  The clop of hooves on cobblestone streets echoed through the labyrinthine streets, over the light chatter of people clustered into pockets of marketplaces.

They walked side by side, at an easy pace, craning their necks to scour every inch of the energetic city.

“This is like a cleaner version of Rüs,” Lovino said.  “Like the area around Illus…”

Gilbert nodded, “Reminds me a lot of the area I used to deliver jewelry to when I still did repairs and shit like that.  Huh.”  He fidgeted with the end of his shirt.  “You miss Rüs?”

“…Not really,” Lovino said with a huff.  “I like traveling in airships.  I never had a home to begin with, but this lifestyle is like embracing it.”

“True,” Gilbert agreed, “It’s just weird to think of how far we’ve come.  From Rüs.  And suddenly we have the world at our feet.  That strange guy who…”  He trailed off, brows furrowed. 

He remembered the man who had pointed him toward the brothel then flickered out of view.  He felt himself shiver.

“This one—“ Lovino said, jabbing a finger toward a shop front.  Huge windows displayed metal dressforms on rods, dressed in several fashions from ruffled skirts and bustiers to waistcoats and billow-sleeved shirts.

Gilbert shook away the dread and slapped on a grin, steering Lovino in toward the door with a hand at his back.  “Here we are, then.  Let’s get you cleaned up.”

They browsed quietly.  One wall was lined with colourful bolts of fabric, solid or printed, with different textures or sheens.  A woman was rolling one out when they’d entered.  She gestured to them with her scissors then started snipping off a five yard segment as she spoke.  “Feel free to ask any questions.”

“Let’s look at waistcoats,” Gilbert said.  “Those are pretty damn sexy in their own right.”  They wandered past low tables spread out with tiered skirts and petticoats nearly exploding with volume.  He skimmed his fingers across one, appreciating the smoothness of the fabric.

“Need a suit too, dumbass,” Lovino said.

“And suddenly you’re the king of fashion?” Gilbert asked, though he knew he was right. 

“I’ve seen the hotshots who wander the streets after their parties.”  Stolen from them, obviously.  “We want something very formal…but sleek.  And simple.  Because I’m not going to be one of those weird assholes who looks like he’s puking ruffles.”

“I think the word you want is ‘cravat’,” Gilbert said with a lopsided grin. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Lovino said hurriedly.  He’d meandered after Gilbert and the pair stood near the table spread with waistcoats of various sizes and colours, all made from either a silk or a wool. 

“I can hand tailor those—“ The shop owner called from where she was now cutting a peculiar assortment of shapes, to be constructed on an empty dressform.  The scissors wheezed into the content silence.

“Good,” Gilbert mused, “Nothing better than a well-fitting suit.”  He flitted back and forth, rifling through the selection piece by piece.  He hummed to himself as he circled back over the table then, pausing to study Lovino in the dim light, held up a waistcoat.  “I want to see you in this.”  Caught somewhere between emerald and forest green, the silky garment gleamed softly. 

“…Green?” Lovino asked, “Why _that?_ ”

With a few long strides, Gilbert closed the gap between them and held it against his chest.  He clucked his tongue, as if confirming what he knew all along.  “Not just any green.  The perfect green.”  He took Lovino’s arm and held it against his chest.  “See?  Look how nice that looks with your skin.  And it really brings out your eyes.”

Lovino’s cheeks flushed.  “Oi.  Don’t say cheap shit like that.”

“S’not cheap for a man to tell another man that he likes his eyes.  Gotta support each other.  Compliments are hard to come by in this day and age.”  Gilbert pretended to wave his statement off, but he pushed the coat against Lovino’s chest til the other took it.  “Seriously though.  It’s a good colour for you.”  This time his smile was a little uncertain but mostly hopeful.

“Fine,” Lovino said.  The red in his face clashed with the green.  To distract the other, he thrust his finger in his face.  “Then find your own damn waistcoat while I look for a suit and all that shit.”

Gilbert waggled his eyebrows, “What colour would you suggest?”

“Hell if I know.  Crimson or some shit.  Hell, just pick your favourite damn colour for all I care.”  He turned away, slightly giddy, and started to pick through several suits, unimpressed with long coattails, imagining getaway scenarios foiled by the flapping fabric catching in slamming doors.  He winced, feeling silly, and went to talk to the seamstress, suddenly shyer than ever as she had him undress and stand arms out for her to do the fitting.

Gilbert watched a moment but, rather than study his lithe frame—finally filled out now that starvation wasn’t an issue—he returned to the waistcoats.  His fingers skimmed a satin-crimson, but he paused again.  “Favourite colour?  Hell, if they could make the exact colour of his damn eyes into fabric, then sure.”

After the two had been fitted—Gilbert swore he’d been stabbed by a needle several times—and had finished waiting for their completed garments, they retreated to the back room to change into their new attire.  Gilbert could not help but sneak sideways glances at the rippling muscles in Lovino’s back as the other pulled a long sleeve shirt over his head then shrugged into the waistcoat, which he buttoned with deft fingers.  He worked toward slipping into his suit, and Gilbert, with a loud cough, started to race into his own outfit.

The two stood face to face, feeling clean and pressed and proper, both in similar crisp suits well fitted to their bodies.  As Gilbert had guessed, the green of the waistcoat, adorned with a little gold chain swooping from the front, brought out the lighter shades of hazel-green eyes, which shined with excitement that the albino wished he could bottle.  There was always something about the way those eyes flashed emotion that made Gilbert want to explore the full range.  He yearned for the way the edges crinkled when the thief smiled.  Or a glimpse of surprise or delight so quick to surface.  Even his surly dark glower captivated him. 

The rest of the suit was dark and clean, making his shoulders seem broad and his waist small.  His trousers were the same colour as the top.  Leather shoes gleamed.

Sheepish, Lovino gave Gilbert a once over.  “S’not bad.”

Gilbert had chosen a crimson that bordered burgundy.  It worked well with his pale skin, though he was self-conscious about how it darkened his already abnormal eyes.  He’d opted for a suit jacket much like his old uniform, buttoned up with a high collar and grey lapels.  His pants were tucked into tall lace-up boots. 

“Y-yeah.  You clean up nice—“ Gilbert managed, his throat dry.  He managed to tear his eyes from Lovino with a quiet little cough.  “Let’s um, let’s find those masks we’re supposed to wear.”  They paid the shopkeeper and left, their old clothes secured in a little bag that Gilbert slung over his back.

Gilbert tagged a step behind then jogged to catch up.  He did not know what to do with his hands, as desperate as he was to touch the small of Lovino’s back or hold his hand tight to fend off anyone who might look and get ideas.  Where they’d been ignored or scorned before, in dusty tattered clothing, passersby cast a favourable eye on them. 

They found the masks in a second shop, which was set up against a river that had burrowed in among the streets so much that the sidewalk was just a sliver.  Little boys launched wooden ships across the rippling water.

Lovino had chosen an intricate mask with gold trim and glitter accents across matt emerald.  Black and yellow dyed pheasant feathers shot out one side.  Gilbert chose something in steel grey, sharper looking and more narrow, with less glitter except for a few fake rubies running down one side. 

“Our work here is done,” Lovino said.

“A-fucking-men.  Let’s get some shit to eat and find Antonio in this godforsaken maze.”  They wandered until they found a little pie shop.  Gilbert ordered a meat pie for either of them, which they ate as they walked, careful not to stain their new clothes.  They found Antonio thanks to Gilbird, who scouted ahead and peaked around corners and over the tops of buildings until he located the cart.

The rest waited, seated idly as they ate little vegetable pies and pastries.  They were dressed in various cuts of suits and with varying degrees of ruffles—with Roderich half choked by his cravat and little ruffles exploding out of his sleeves, matched only by the ruffled tiers in Belle’s skirt which were puffed out by her petticoat.  Abel’s coattails were laughably long.  A top hat hid his spike of hair, which both João and Antonio were still cracking up over.  He only glowered, but the twitch of his lip betrayed his own amusement over an intentional joke. 

“I’ve never been on a shopping spree before,” Antonio admitted, tapping a shiny black cane along the cobblestone.

“Almost feels wrong somehow,” João agreed.

“Because it’s a huge fucking waste of money,” Abel said with a little shrug.  His eyes softened as he watched Belle launch herself into a spin.  Her dress bloomed around her in a burst of colour then twisted gently around her legs as she stopped.  “For the most part.”

“Okay, crew,” Antonio said, “We need to—“  He looked up just as Gilbert and Lovino stumbled into the shade of the cart.  He squinted but grinned.  “I was beginning to wonder if the two of you had gotten lost somewhere.”

“No,” Gilbert said, “Just got really into this whole shopping thing.”

Antonio nodded appreciation to Lovino. “No one would ever be able to tell you apart from a noblemen in dress like that.”

Lovino tilted his head.  “…Thanks?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes.  “Whatever the hell that was, good thing it ended as soon as it started.”  He huffed a little to himself and waved his hand.  “You were saying something about tonight?”

“Oh, right,” Antonio straightened a little, dusting off the back of his suit.  “We will enter as the House of Tehn, or whatever Roderich said that ring represents.  We are his entourage of sorts, because apparently that’s how it works.  When we get there, I want you to spread out along the dance floor.  Locate the man in question.  Confirm that it is him, any way that you can.  The masks might pose a challenge, but it’s important that we get him into a private, secluded spot.  Signal to João or myself with the mirrors like I explained in the cart. 

“When it’s time to…do the deed, João and I will perform the action.  You will guard the doors or maintain a presence in the hall in case we have any trouble from authorities.”  He stared them all down until they nodded.  “Good.  And have a little bit of fun too.  It’s a party.”

João and Abel coughed silently at each other.

Roderich pursed his lips at them then, adjusting his cravat, pushed himself from the side of the cart.  “And don’t _embarrass_ me.”

“You don’t even have a name _to_ tarnish,” Abel said offhandedly. 

Lili patted Rod’s arm.  “It’s okay.  We’ll try not to.  Though I personally have never danced before, so maybe I should be trained.”

Lovino hung his head.  “Oh god.  We have to actually _dance?_ ”

“Well…yes.  That’s what a dance entails,” Antonio said.  He looked back and forth, then checked the position of the sun.  It was still fairly high in the sky, just barely leaning out of its afternoon position.  “We have time to kill.  Let’s do a quick lesson then take our places.” 

He and João acted like coaches, with a little help from Roderich, who claimed expertise in anything formal and pertaining to upperclass functions.  Gilbert, who had been familiar with dancing due to military functions, helped guide Belle and Abel through simple steps.  Belle would wince whenever Abel stepped on her toe, then stumble on her own feet.  She stared downward intently, watching the steps and careful not to lose the pattering rhythm that João tapped out against the side of the cart.

“Right,” Antonio said with a grin.  “Not so bad.”  He noticed Lovino hanging back against one of the buildings then pulled him in toward him.  The other thumped into his chest with an exclamation.  “You learn by doing, Lovino.  This is part of the mission.  Blending in.  It’s all or nothing.  Always.”

Lovino only groaned but started to work through the pattern with his feet.  He was light and well adapted to the movement; he carried a natural rhythm and easy grace. 

“Very good,” Antonio murmured into his ear.  His breath was warm there against his neck, but his touch was gentle.  “You’re a natural.  You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“When the fuck would I have danced?” Lovino muttered back.  He let Antonio spin him once.  For all his sour expression, he was enjoying the simplistic flow of the movement.

Gilbert gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched, secretly relieved when the two fell apart.  Lovino returned to him with a sheepish little shrug.  He panted slightly, elated.

Antonio raised his voice for a second announcement.  “Okay.  We’ll start walking in that direction and scope out the place.  As for the dance…it’s best if we don’t bring attention to ourselves.  So nothing too conspicuous.  Unfortunately, the nobility will expect you to pursue many partners.  Use that to your advantage to travel around the ballroom.”

He started to walk.

His group followed at his side.

“Hey, Lovino,” Gilbert muttered from the side of his mouth.

“…What?”

“Dance with me later.”

Lovino scrunched his brow at him.  “Not in the middle of a formal masquerade.  They’d stare.  Two guys dancing--”

“I meant _later_ later,” Gilbert whined.  “When there aren’t any judgmental snobs staring at us down their noses.”  He waited as the other thought it over.  “Just a silly thing.”  He felt his stomach drop, but maintained his hopeful little smile.  “Practice for fun.  I can teach you more steps and stuff like that.”

Lovino sucked in a small breath.  He walked in silence, listening to the tap of his feet against the street.  The sun was warm on his scalp, and he felt himself sweat a little with the heavy suit constricting his limbs.  He removed the jacket and held it under his arm as he walked.  “Fine.”

Gilbert blinked, as if he’d misheard.  “Really?”

“Sure, whatever,” Lovino relented.  “If you’re so damn hellbent on dancing.  If you provide wine.  A-and it’s only because I want to learn more steps and drink a little.  Don’t get cocky and shit.”

“I will find the best wine available, then,” Gilbert said with a little smile. 

“Oi, stop flirting back there,” Abel said.  He’d spoken unnecessarily loudly, so that the whole group could hear him.

João snickered.

“I think they’re cute,” Lili said.

“First of all, we weren’t flirting—too men can have a damn conversation once in a while an—“

“A whispered conversation,” Abel said.  “And blushing.  Pretty sure I heard a giggle somewhere in all that.”

Lovino’s face nearly broke magenta.  “Mind your own damn business, before I mind it for you.”

“…That made no sense,” Antonio said. 

“I’m just teasing anyway,” Abel said.  “I agree with Lili.  Cute as hell.”  He spoke in a deadpan voice, not bothering to even look back at them, though the corner of his lip was turned up into a little smile. 

“Abel does like cute things,” Lili said.

“The main reason why I don’t like Antonio,” Abel said.  “He’s not cute.”

“Don’t drag _me_ into this—“ Antonio exclaimed, punching him lightly in the arm.  “And I am cute.  Just ask Francis.  _He’ll_ tell you--”

“Oh I’m sure he’ll tell me a lot of things—“ Abel quipped.

Just as quickly as Abel had brought attention to the pair whispering in the back, he’d yanked it away.  With a start, Lovino wondered if this was what it was like to have a teasing older brother.  And a teasing family.  The embarrassment simpered down into a sense of flattery that made his chest seem oddly light.  He bit at his lip and quietly slipped his hand into Gilbert’s. 

Both inhaled as one.  There wasn’t so much of an electric spark as much as warmth that seeped into either of them as they walked.  Lovino could feel Gilbert’s pulse through the pad of his thumb.  It hammered faster.  His palm was suddenly hot and sticky.  But they walked as if in sync, basking in their odd connection, neither daring to look at the other. 

After a quick dinner, through which Lovino and Gilbert were oddly silent, the group arranged themselves in the line of people trailing out of the courtyard to the ballroom.  The sun was now a dull orange sinking in the sky.  The chatter of captive birds in wire cages died into a hum as time passed.

The mansion was painted with bright colours, much like the rectangular townhouses squashed together between alleys, only sprawled out.  The shutters, trim, and siding complemented each other, dusky roses, red-purples, periwinkles, competing with the rose bushes blooming near the base.

The people in the line were dressed in velvet dresses that must have been hot in the warm summer evening.  The women cooled themselves with lace fans that matched the masks secured to their faces.  They gossiped among themselves, a separate pool from the men in their entourage, who were encouraged to partake in their own conversation.

Antonio’s crew secured their masks.  Although glittery and pompous, Lovino considered his mask like that of a robber’s.  The disguise of a man on a mission.  He grinned despite himself, feeling a strange surge of confidence.  Nobody knew he was just a thief from a whorehouse—some lost kid who had to steal just to eat.  To them, with these clothes, he was one of them.  He could dance with whoever he liked and no one would be the wiser.  For the first time in his life, he would be treated like an equal by the very strangers who would have cast him out.  It was a strange revelation, and one that had him giddy with excitement. 

The line moved slowly.  Music drifted from the hallway, mellow stringed instruments and the clang of belled drums.  It worked itself into a merry tune that had Lovino tapping his foot.  A man at the doorway checked invitations and announced those entering.

Roderich only flashed the ring as well as the paper that he’d had the mine supervisor sign.  The man announced them as the House of Tehn as written, and Roderich, floating past, held his head up high as the merry atmosphere enveloped him.  The ring, recognizable only as a gem from Volare, would serve him well.

Men and women already danced to a fast-paced waltz along a well polished floor.  Flats and boots stamped and clicked in time with the music.  Lit candles twisting along crystal chandeliers dappled light patterns over the crowd.  A rich scent of roasting meat combated a cloying amalgamation of perfumes and sweat.

Lovino’s eyes lit with fascination.  Gilbert watched him as he turned his head to take in the whole room, then tapped a light hand to the small of his back and whispered, “You’ll have to fill out dance cards and the like.  There is a proper way to go about this.  Rules you must follow, alright?”

“O-oh?”  Lovino blinked.  “Then show me.”

Antonio and João locked eyes.  The man they wanted had just been announced, though he was flanked on either side by soldiers.

“Mr. Carlisle Langford, House of Rie.”

Abel joined their sides.  “Sidle up to him.  Get him drunk.  What are you, an amateur?”

“Sadly, no,” Antonio said.  “Not an amateur.  But he’ll recognize me.  Surely, even with a mask.  I caused significant damage to his operation before I skipped town.  That might have been his ship that I stole.”

“Might have been,” Abel scoffed. 

João gritted his teeth.  “You, then.  Abel.  Pretend that you are a businessman.  Try to strike a business deal.  That is a sure-fire way to get his greed on our side.”

“You didn’t actually come in here with a sure fire plan, did you,” Abel muttered.  “People don’t talk business as these sort of affairs.”

Lili raised her hand.  “I have a dance card.  I’ll sidle up to him.”

Antonio blinked.  “I am not doubting your abilities, but are you sure that you’re up the challenge?  I hate the idea of that snake even _touching_ you.”

“For the good of the crew,” Lili said.  “It’s only a dance.  And it’ll get his guard down.  Just watch my back.”  She unfolded her card and drifted toward him, never minding that he was twice her age and height.  When she wanted to be, she was as fierce as any man, and even more dangerous for it, hiding behind innocent eyes and a pretty face.

She walked right past a group of military men, one of whom stood awkwardly stiff, hands clasped as if he did not know what to do with them.  He wore the same pressed uniform as before, rank highlighted in the same bars, hair slicked back precisely, not one strand daring to break rank. Though his soldiers wore masks, he’d left his face bare.  This had earned him a few stares, which he’d discouraged with a frown.  He surveyed the hall.

“Captain—“ One of his companions, a lower ranking soldier, tapped at his shoulder.  He swallowed, intimidated, as the other turned, but relaxed visibly when Ludwig placed a hand on his shoulder.  Gentle eyes were clouded with apprehension. 

“At ease,” he said quietly, “You are not technically on duty.”

The man stilled his hand halfway through a thrown salute then pressed them to his sides.  “Y-yes, of course, sir…”

Ludwig swallowed.  “Have fun.  I insist.  If I need your assistance, I will call you into action.”

The men, grateful, shuffled off, some rubbing the back of their necks as they went to find dances for the night.

Ludwig had not been put in charge of a group of soldiers in a long time.  It seemed natural to murmur out orders; he’d never had to raise his voice much for the natural authority he held in the very way he stood.  Men naturally respected him and looked to him to a leader.

However, he did not like how the newest green stripe on his shoulders invoked fear in them, to the point they stammered out ‘yessirs’ to every little request.  The relationship of a leader and his men should be one of mutual respect, not intimidation.  He sighed.  It was only for a little bit.  He preferred working with his soldiers, but lately he’d been on nothing but solo missions, like the king’s personal little messenger.  What he wouldn’t give to rip those green stripes from his uniform, to go back to leading a platoon like before.

Finding Gilbert was not difficult.  That shock of white hair contrasted sharply with the normal array of blond, brown, and black.  The thief, as predicted, stuck close, recognizable only for the curls twisting around his ears.  Ludwig made a mental note.  It would not do to make a scene about this whole affair.  He felt a twinge of guilt, but clamped his lips and balled his fists. 

“Ludwig, you can do this,” he said to himself.  He felt awkward standing in a tide of people, like the one particle of dust transfixed in a flurry of activity, skirts spinning and blossoming out from the women dancing.  Men moving like machines to the beat of the music, back and forth back and forth, spines straight, hands never straying too low.

_Feliciano would have liked something like this_ , he caught himself thinking.  His heart twisted painfully in his chest.  He walked rigidly toward a table with sparkling _something_ and downed a dainty little glass in one gulp.  Then, wiping at his face with a napkin, he blended in to wait near a wall, shifting awkwardly from one foot to foot, uncomfortable and uneasy.  _The old Ludwig would never be so conflicted about this._

Though that was a lie.  He would just be better at hiding it.  Brother or not, he would achieve his objective and deal with the guilt later.

Lili exchanged a look with Antonio from across the room.  Dance cards should have limited a man to two dances maximum with any one woman.  With a simpering giggle, she placed a hand at Carlisle’s elbow and reassured him that it was perfectly fine that his name was scrawled on every line, for every dance.  For hours, she listened to his pointless drivel—talk of his riches, the way he commanded his men, the respect he was given in the community, his chest puffing out a little more with each surprised, impressed gasp that Lili gave.

Internally, she rolled her eyes.  She knew she was laying it on pretty thick, lips constantly puckered into a little “oh?” as if he was the most amazing man she’d ever met. 

_Antonio owes me big time,_ she thought, as she pressed just a little bit closer.  By the time the fourth dance ended—a dreadfully slow waltz—her feet ached and her head spun.  She threw on a little bit of a pout, using the silence of transitioning songs to stay her feet, then rose to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.  “How about we…take a bit of a rest for this next song.  My feet are dreadfully tired.”

“A rest--?”

Lili nodded.  “Yes, to breathe.  Maybe even chat with a bit of silence.  How about we find a secluded room.”

“And taint your honor, my lady?”

_Oh, so now he has morals.  Doesn’t mind working kids to death but won’t risk tainting my so-called honor?_   She sighed a little bit.  “No one would recognize either of us.  These masks work well.”

He licked his lips a little.

“Plus it would be only for a minute.  Then we can waltz into a stupor again.”

He nodded, hand finding the small of her back.  “Very well.  I can find a quiet place for you to sit down for a few minutes.  Some place private.”

_God you’re a pig_ , she thought, _I am way too young for you, you creep._

Antonio watched as they retreated through heavy doors at the back of the room.  He motioned his crew to follow.  From all corners of the dance floor, they politely said goodbye to their dates, and waded through the throngs of people just as the next song built up.

“She leading him to his death then?” Gilbert asked.  He sweated a little bit.  The ballroom had grown hot from poor circulation and coordinated movement.  “Where are we needed?”

Antonio pursed his lips.  “You and Lovino stay here.  Abel, João, and I will lead him back to his place of residence.  Find Roderich at some point and tell him that we are successful so far.”

With a firm expression, Belle tugged at Abel’s sleeve then pulled a dagger from the side of her corset. 

“I suppose Belle is coming with us too, then,” Abel said.  He seemed pleased.  “Good.  Don’t want any weirdos trying to write their stupid names all over your card or some shit.”

Her card had been completely dominated with the letters ABEL scrawled across the entirety.  He grinned, very pleased with himself, then removed his top hat to grab the small dagger nestled in his hair.

The group, daggers out, shoved through the double doors.  There was a gasp of surprise and the sound of a scuffle, mostly muffled by the heavy doors and surely drowned out by the music outside.

Rather than lead Lovino back onto the dance floor, Gilbert pointed to windowed-doors opening out into a balcony, which hovered just feet over rose-beds, overlooking a span of green and a pathway of rocks.  The moon was just a sliver in the sky.  A breeze offered no relief from the dull heat that settled heavily over the night.

Still, Lovino breathed a little more freely.  The ball had been a little disorienting.  He’d danced with one woman, eager to flirt and chatter, but found that going through the motions with a complete stranger made him oddly empty inside.  He’d become impatient with the music.  The agitation made his movements jerky.

The silence and stillness was a welcome change.

Gilbert leaned against the railing beside him with a long sigh.  He glanced sideways at him.  “So, about that dance…?”

The ghost of music drifted out onto the balcony, only the slow beat of a waltz distinguishable. 

Lovino turned to face him.  “You still owe me wine,” he muttered. 

“I’ll get you double wine,” Gilbert promised, pulling the other toward him but maintaining a respectable distance between their bodies.  He placed his hand between Lovino’s shoulder blades, and the other at his waist. 

Lovino closed that distance with an impatient little sound.

They moved slowly.  At first Lovino’s feet intercepted Gilbert’s.  They stumbled a little.

“Hey, I’m the one leading, not you,” Gilbert muttered.

“No, I’ll lead,” Lovino said.

“I’m taller—“

“By like two measly inches.”  Lovino flicked him in the chest.  Gilbird poked from the neckline of his waistcoat and chirped.

Gilbert laughed.  “Fine.  Outvoted two to one–though I’m not even sure why the damn bird even _gets_ a damn vote.  Lead, then.”

They readjusted and moved slowly, comfortable enough in the silence.

Lovino rested his head against Gilbert’s shoulder and closed his eyes.  There was just the movement and the music and the warmth of Gilbert’s embrace.  His heart hammered in his chest, but the sweat he could blame on the summer heat.  Still, his eyes strayed toward Gilbert’s lips and the nervous way he licked them.  He swallowed, throat dry, taking in the details of the creases there and the little scrapes where he’d gnawed them subconsciously.  Gilbert’s scent was thick in his nose, an earthy musk of sweat and oil.

Ludwig, standing outside the doors, just a dark shape beyond the glass, gripped the dagger tightly in his hands.  Now was the time.

 


	8. Ludwig's Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig tries to help his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get the hang of writing Ludwig still, but the man being COMPLETELY at his wit's end stressed beyond BELIEF, is a whole new challenge.
> 
> Also, c'mon Gil and Lovi, stop dancing around the issue and just kiss already.
> 
> Update next Wed (6/4)!

As the music ground to a slow stop, Gilbert and Lovino stood pressed against each other, staring into each other’s eyes from beyond their masks. 

Ludwig reached for the handle of the door.  To strike when either of their guards was down would be advantageous.  Maybe he could subdue the thief and get out of there without actually harming his brother.

He hesitated.

Gilbert reached up and, while caressing Lovino’s cheeks, slowly unhooked the mask from his face, setting it gently on the railing.  Rough fingertips were gentle at the delicate skin under his eyes and up to his temple.  He leaned forward until their foreheads tapped.

Lovino’s breath hitched.  Just as slowly, he removed Gilbert’s mask, but dropped it somewhere between shaking hands and the tenderness of Gilbert’s touch.

“I…”  His breath was little more than a whisper. 

“Hmm?”  Those fingers drifted over Lovino’s bottom lip.  It was dry.

“I don’t know,” Lovino finally managed.

“Me neither,” Gilbert murmured.  “But then again, I guess I don’t know much of anything…on a good day.”  He hardly felt himself lean closer. Their breaths shared the same space.  His toes curled slightly in his shoes.

He tilted his head, barely daring to close that gap—what felt like miles but was a matter of centimeters. 

The doorknob clicked.  The windows rattled.

Gilbert jerked his head around, hands tightening around Lovino’s shoulders.

“—Thought I just saw something—“  To be sure, he walked closer.  The shadow of the hall was as still as ever.  He pressed his face against the glass and squinted.  Further investigation, poking his head into the hall, produced no new results.  He sighed and backed up onto the balcony.

By then, Lovino had already secured the mask to his face again, hands still trembling.  He swallowed several times as he stared at the ground. 

“We, uh, we should get back to the ballroom,” he managed.  His voice cracked. 

With a pang of longing for a moment that had never happened, Gilbert could only nod.  “Yes, that’s…probably best.  Antonio did tell us to find Roderich.  And w-who knows, maybe we’ll have to make a quick get-away after they come back uh, with dirty hands.”

He didn’t dare try to take Lovino’s hand in his own, instead walking quietly just a half pace behind him, stopping to scoop up his mask and secure it over his face.  He wondered if Lovino’s hid the same pained yearning that he could not put into words.

The ball had resumed as if nothing had happened, the members swaying in time to a slow paced song, many young cheeks still flushed with excitement despite aching bodies and dripping sweat that mingled with perfume.  Lovino danced with a few other women, but Gilbert just watched from near the table with wine, sipping slowly. 

Ludwig had slipped into the crowd after dabbing at his face and neck with a handkerchief in a secluded hall.  He’d run from that window, drenched in cold sweat.  He still shivered despite the heat.

 _I can’t do this_ , he thought.  He watched Gilbert from afar.  Regret coiled deeper within his chest.

Seeing Gilbert so close to his potential lover then seeing hints of _him_ in the way Lovino spoke, acted, smiled—and that nose and those eyes, so similar to _his_ —there was no answer.

He shook his head.  _This is not the time for this, soldier_.  He allowed himself a few more breaths, forcing himself to stand up a little straighter.  _You will not fail this mission.  You cannot_ afford _to fail this mission._

What would be worse? To stab his brother in the back or come crawling back to the king empty handed, when the target had been practically handed to him on a silver platter.

He started for the doors.  There had to be _some_ way out of this.  Some way to make this black and white.

He’d just have to report back to the king and—

“Ludwig?” 

Gilbert--

There was no malice in his tone.  Just surprise.  He seemed tired.

The colour drained from Ludwig’s face.  He almost kept walking, but turned on one foot, ‘about-facing’ from habit.  That same cold sweat clung to him.

“O-oh, Gilbert.”  He coughed a little bit.  Shame forced his eyes downward into a steely glower.  “An odd coincidence.  But I am leaving.”  He hesitated.  “If you knew what was good for you, you’d take your thief and leave this country.”

“What…?”

Ludwig felt a surge of panic.  He knew the cost of those uttered words.  “I—it’s nothing.”  He clamped his mouth shut again.  Mentally, he berated himself.

“Look,” Gilbert said, “I know you’re disappointed in me.  But I made the right choice.  I regretted it a long time, but now I finally know that it wasn’t a mistake, even if shit did go to hell.  I’m clawing my way out of that hell, and it’s better than before.”

“I never heard the circumstances around your decision,” Ludwig said, “Just that you betrayed the crown and should have been killed for it.”

“You stepped in, didn’t you,” Gilbert said.

Ludwig frowned deeply.  “You aren’t supposed to know that.  I will not answer either way.”  He swallowed and looked away, still standing at harsh attention, knees locked until he started to feel lightheaded.  He tried to relax a little bit.

“Is that enough to make us enemies?  My crime was against the crown, not you.” Gilbert asked.  “We’re _brothers_.”

 _No, no, no, no, no, no,_ no.  This was only going to make this more difficult.  He barely feigned calm indifference over a surge of panic. 

“Things are complicated,” Ludwig said, “My position is complicated.”

From across the room, Roderich caught his eye, one eyebrow raised.  With a twist of his dance partner, the gaze was broken, but Ludwig could feel the remnants of a calculating glower. 

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Gilbert said.  “Forgive me for wanting to mend things up with my brother.  Just figured that in this fucked up world where nothing is certain, at least blood would be a constant.”  He shrugged a little bit, shoulders sagging back down as he glanced over to where Lovino was dancing.  “We literally had nothing but each other growing up.  I can’t believe that is all for shit now.”

“I—“  Ludwig frowned, rubbing at his temples.  “Gilbert—maybe there is a way that we can fix things—“  The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.  One thing that Ludwig did _not_ do was to speak without first completely thinking the words through—but here they spilled out before he could collect or censor them, racing faster than his mind could process.  There had to be a way to untangle the threads to this problem—to find a solution where no one got hurt.  “Maybe things can go back to the way they are before.  We can earn you a pardon of some sort.  You can rejoin the military if—“

 “The thing is, I’m not interested in rejoining,” Gilbert said, “I thought it was my place, but now…there is something else I want to devote my life to.  Something _important_.”  He was watching Lovino again.  “Something that won’t make me choose between honor and the lives of the innocent.”

Ludwig’s mouth fell open.  “Then at least…allow me to arrange a pardoning, somehow.”

“Can a lackey like you even arrange something like that?”

Ludwig mumbled to himself.  “I would certainly try.”  He appeared to be in deep thought.  “You resent me for not standing up for you.  Let me stand up for you.”

“I’m not terribly interested, still,” Gilbert muttered.  “But I will accept your apology…”  He trailed off, thinking, “Except.  If this pardoning involved entry into the Wingless City.  Then, maybe.”

“I will do my best to arrange it,” Ludwig said.    An odd heaviness in his chest warned him that he was only stalling, not preventing his betrayal.  He fought that sensation, determined to hope that maybe this could fix his problem. 

Gilbert appraised the offer a second time then nodded.  “Good.  Because there is some stuff I need to investigate.  The honor no longer makes a difference to me, but I will accept whatever pardon.”  He dug into his pocket.  The corners of his iron cross were sharp against his palm as his fingers tightened around it. 

“I will send message by bird if any of this can be arranged.”  Ludwig added with a stiff little nod.

Gilbert nodded back, then carefully untied the mask from his face and handed it over.  “Oh, and Ludwig?  You’re supposed to wear a mask to these types of events.  No woman in her right mind would dance with a mask-less man at a masquerade ball.  Where would you be without your big brother looking after you.”  The words felt forced and natural at the same time. 

Ludwig accepted it with a little grimace.  Red, black, and gold, it matched the uniform he wore.  He carefully fastened it, feeling foolish, but thankful for something to hide behind.  There was no sorting through the snarl of emotions probably seeping through his expression. “Right.  Er, thank you.”  

With that, Ludwig pushed through the double-doors.  They closed with a rattle behind him and Gilbert, standing there watching him, suddenly felt lost in a tide of confusion.

“What…just happened?” he wondered to himself. 

He felt air rush past him.  The doors had opened a second time.  Antonio, João, Lili, Belle, and Abel walked in, dressed as cleanly as before, though João now wore silk gloves.  He kept rubbing his hands, as if subconsciously trying to wipe them clean.  The deed, rolled into a scroll, pushed against the confines of his coat pocket.

“Mission complete,” Antonio murmured in Gilbert’s ear.  “There is no real reason to stay any longer.”

Gilbert nodded once, “I’ll collect Lovino, then.”

They drove from the town in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts.  João had removed the gloves and stared at his hands.  Dark skin smelled of copper, no matter how thoroughly he’d scrubbed them. 

“Huh,” he muttered.

Antonio put a hand on his shoulder, “It will never amount to the blood spilled by his own hands.”

“I know,” João said.  “I do not regret it.”

“You did what you had to do,” Antonio agreed.

Gilbert leaned against Lovino.  “Hey, Lovi.”

The other could hardly look at him.  He fiddled with a bit of fabric he’d found somewhere.  The cart trembled and swayed around them.

“Let’s just…um, we can pretend that tonight didn’t happen.  I-if you wanted.  If that was too…uh, fast for you.  The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“I—there’s just a lot to sort through…i-in my mind,” he answered.  Finally he looked at him, hands going still.  “It’s not that I don’t…it’s…everything is changing so fast.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like it.  I like going place to place and having people to talk to all of a sudden.  But it gets disorienting and—and suddenly my head is spinning and it’s great but it’s _shitty_ at the same time.  I don’t even know what I _want—_ I just need time to think about it.“

Gilbert put a hand on his shoulder.  “S’okay.  Really, Lovino, it is.  Don’t stress out too much about it.  The party was probably a bit much anyway—“

“I had fun dancing,” he added.  Quietly.  “With you.  With the girls.  Just in general.  I felt…like I’d done it before.  I started to see…memories?”  He gnawed on his bottom lip, head tilted back a little to stare at the canvas ceiling. 

“What…kind of memories?”

With a little shrug, Lovino only hummed then, leaning his head against Gilbert’s shoulder, wet his lips a little.  He thought a while, trying to recall the snatches of pictures in his mind.  They slipped like his fingers like sand through a sift, until only bits remained.  “My brother, mostly.  He and I were…causing a ruckus, I guess.  At least, that’s what the voice in my memory accused us of.  We used to…like to run through the ballroom.  Under legs.  Throwing up skirts as we went to race to the other side to snatch bits of chocolates.  The ladies would shriek then scold us.”  He frowned a little bit, “That’s all I can remember right now.”

“So…visual triggers,” Gilbert realized.  “Are you…feeling okay after that?”

Lovino nodded.  “I guess…I’m annoyed at myself.  I think I really liked my brother, but, I think he might be dead and— _fuck—_ what kind of person can’t remember his own damn _brother_ , like who will remember him now that he’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” Gilbert murmured.  He felt himself release a long breath, then pulled closer to Lovino to fit an arm around him.  Head resting against the other’s neck, he could make out his heartbeat.  “Um, Lovino?”

He felt the vibration of a ‘hm?’

“I might…have a chance to go to Volare.  You…mentioned Volare once.  When we were escaping that museum place.  I think that’s where you’re from.  One of the tiers.”

“Isn’t that city restricted?  I heard someone say that…”

“I…My brother might help me out.  He and I—we’re somewhat estranged due to circumstances, but, I think he’s harmless enough.  And, he agreed to see if he could grant me access to the city to accept a pardon—“

“From the military?  Are you going to become a soldier again?”  He could almost hear the scowl in Lovino’s voice.

“I don’t know.  Would that be a bad thing?” Gilbert asked.

“I—no—I guess not,” Lovino said  “I just—do whatever the hell you want—it’s your life--“

 He muttered, fuming silently to himself, until Gilbert drew away, blinking rapidly.

“It’s funny,” Gilbert said with a dry laugh, “I used to live and breathe for the military.”

Lovino just continued grumbling.

“Oi,” Gilbert said, snapping in front of his face.  He lifted his chin so the other would look at him.  “Now, I’d rather march to my own drum.  And that means…getting into as much trouble as I fucking can with a thief and a band of pirates.”

The relief on Lovino’s face melted Gilbert’s heart.  He wanted nothing more than to kiss the hell out of him.  He turned his head before he did anything stupid. 

“So…Volare, then?” Lovino said.

“Yeah,” Gilbert answered, “I’ll let you know.  It’ll be…I mean, I’m afraid maybe some of your memories will bring you pain.  But it is your right to them.  And I will protect you no matter what.  You can talk to me about any of it or none of it.  I’m just…I’m _here_ for you.”

“I know,” Lovino breathed.  “We’re a team, remember?  The best team.” 

They returned to Kayma sometime late in the night.  The prairie smelled of fire, but it wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, and there was no flicker of light on the darkened horizon.  It had retreated for the day.

João stared at the entrance to the mine as he passed it.  “It’s ours,” he said simply. 

“People may come to…contest this decision,” Antonio said.  “You might have ignited something long and difficult.”

“I have the deed and the will to fight,” João answered.  “We’ll mine what we need to survive in as safe of a process as possible.  The difference between the profit of selling the metal ourselves and the piss-poor wages they paid us will be enough to support this city on reasonable hours of work.”  He shrugged a little bit.  “Plus…no one in hell would risk the fires of these prairies.  They attack us?  We just light the grass in waves.  So even if they _did_ know how to locate the mine—and trust me, that pig hid his secret well—they’d never hope to defeat us on our own turf so—“ he clapped Antonio on the back.  It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders; he seemed years younger.

“In any case,” Antonio said, “We don’t have any fun adventures lined up right now.  So we’ll stick around a week or two and make sure no one gives you trouble.”

João thought this over, deemed it acceptable, and raised a thumbs up.  “I guess I can put up with seeing your ugly face if it means someone besides me does the cooking on my rooftop.”

“That’d be Francis, not me,” Antonio said. 

He yelped--

\--João had caught him in a headlock and was grinding his fist into his hair, grinning devilishly.  “No, that’d be you.”

\--

The journey to the Wingless City was a long one by vehicle, but Ludwig and his soldiers loaded into a motorized car and, tugging the roof overhead and securing it, sat in the sputtering space, staring anywhere but at each other.  The driver sat on an elevated seat outside, manhandling a large wheel to steer, feet at pedals that lurched the car forward.  It smoked and hissed as it jolted along uneven roads.

He’d kept the mask.  It sat in his bag with a few wrapped confections that he’d picked up from the party, as well as a little dried rose corsage. 

Though spasms shot through his body, and his squad slouched and slept against each other, he kept his back agonizingly straight the whole five hour ride.  He limped a little as they piled out, but reassured himself that he could catch a few hours of sleep on the airship.

It wasn’t so much a ship as a glorified blimp set into a wooden, hull-like frame.  There were adjustable sails on the sides, like fins, which were used in steering.  The wind here was light but powerful.  The ship tugged against its anchor-lines as it bobbed up and down.

He did sleep, once he was alone to a room and a creaking cot, though it was uneasy and short-lived.  The rest of the time, he stared out the little port-hole of the window, watching the ship ease up over a layer of dull clouds, up past the smog from industrial cities, and into clean air where the sun was unhindered.  He squinted, but waited.

The Grounded Tier was the city sprawled on the tallest of a series of plateaus that climbed like stairs.  The lower nobility thrived there, herding sheep along green pastures, children running wild in relatively safe cobblestone streets.  Vines crept through the cracks of stone buildings, old but elegant, fixed with windows that opened up much of the structure to light.  Flowers flourished in small pots.  It resembled more of a village than a grand city, but it was clean as high in the air as it was.  Clean and simple but beautiful.

He managed a little smile to himself.  He and Feliciano had once talked about where they would live one day, if they had the freedom to choose.  They’d both pointed to the same place on the map so suddenly that their hands had brushed.  The Grounded Tier.

An ache squeezed his heart.  He turned away until they’d drifted higher. 

All of the Tiers together—four in all—were arranged like the stones of a dangling collage, scattered but suspended in an almost-spiral pattern.  The bottom two were inhabited by the highest of the nobility.  The First Tier of Volare was an island floating a few hundred feet above the Grounded Tier, such that the shadow cast kept the southern half of the city cool.  It was packed with townhouses, like someone had tried to cram too much into one place.  It popped with colour.  The Second supported sprawling mansions, several layers of trim contrasting peaceably, courtyards and gardens neatly kept.  Rather than automobiles, these nobility preferred the old fashioned horse drawn carriage, which kept the Tier alive with the scattered ring of hooves on stone.  The Third Tier was one giant walled courtyard, with gold-sheathed wrought iron fences twisting a barrier around a large castle.  The Fourth was a factory, uninhabitable for the thin air, in which workers wore oxygen tanks to mine valuable gases, like hydrogen and helium, for the air ships.

The ship bumped idly into the dock on the Third Tier.  Huge rubies set into the gate flashed as it opened.  Ludwig pulled out his identification, but one look at his face and the guards knew to lower their swords.

He walked curtly past.

The castle itself was gilded gold alternating with mirrors where there should have been windows.  In the evening, when the sun set, it lit more purely than the gold itself, reflecting oranges and yellows out into the courtyard.  Then, as the sun dipped below, as it was doing now, they reflected the stars, which were studded in clusters across the sky, bright and beautiful and unhindered by the layer of smog settled like a blanket over the cities on the ground.

The sight always ripped Ludwig’s breath away.  He imagined that Feliciano was staring out some window watching them too.

He entered in the ruby-studded gate to the palace itself.  Inside was padded with the lambent glow of periodic globes sheltering ignited gas.  His footsteps were muffled by lambs-wool carpet.

The atrium, papered with tapestries floor to ceiling, led past a hall of mirrors, reflecting Ludwig into infinity as he walked.  He was hyper aware of the scuff of his shoes and the quiet release of his own breath as he tried not to stare at either side.  He eventually came upon another opening, into a room set with a large stone table, still furnished with a few stray glasses from a dinner.  The king sat sipping the last of his wine from a wooden chalice. 

A portly, graying man, he did not seem imposing, but rather like some merchant who had stumbled into a golden hall of luxury and had never left.  He wore just a robe over cotton-clothing—simplistically luxurious—his feet wrapped in wooled socks rather than stiff shoes.  It was not the man that he feared , but his power.  He sat completely at ease, the weight of his gaze exuding authority and judgment upon Ludwig. 

“So…?” The King asked.  He spoke quietly, picking at his nails as he did so.  “You said you had a lead.  An informant.  Did you find the boy?”

Ludwig hesitated.  He could not force a lie out before the truth came spilling forth.  “I did.”

“And you, judging by the looks of things, failed to apprehend him.  Or else he’d be by your side.  In my hall.  Where he is meant to be.”

“He is in the company of my brother,” Ludwig managed, “A capture might not be necessary—you and he could work out an agreement. _Employ_ the thief--”

The king waved a hand.  He got the silence he demanded.  With a calm, almost patronizing patience, he sighed and lifted himself from his chair.  He stood a foot shorter than Ludwig.  “If you are referring to your _brother_ , then there _is_ no negotiating with him.  Moreover, I am not interested in him so much as the brat.  And if that brat is anything like _his_ brother, then he will not willingly bend to my requests.”

Ludwig paled.  He should have known that his attempts at making peace would be in vain. 

The king thought it over.  “But, if you are implying some sort of relationship between the two, then yes, I will take both of them.  One to control the other.  You are familiar with that tactic, yes?”

Ludwig stiffened.  Through gritted teeth, he spat a quick “Yes sir.”

“None more so than you,” the king said.  “Honest men are my favourite for this reason.”

It took everything in Ludwig—every fiber of his trembling being—not to attack.  If he did, hundreds of soldiers would pour into that hallway and Feliciano would be—

He swallowed.  Hard.  “Then what is it that you want me to do.”

The king traced at the layers of rock in his tabletop, admiring the reflection of light glancing across it.  “Clearly you have been in communication with your brother.  Under any other circumstances, I would be likely to have your head for failing such an easy mission.  But no.  Tell me what you told him.”

Ludwig was silent.

“Soldier,” the king barked.

Cold with sweat, Ludwig took a breath.  “I told him I would try to arrange a pardon—“

“Perfect,” the king answered.  “Then send him the message.  I will sign it.  And we’ll ambush them and take them in—“

That dread tied itself into a harsh knot within Ludwig.  Dizziness wormed its way through his head. 

Pleased, the king went back to his chair and lounged half-sideways in it to sip at his cup.  “Hm.  You should probably check on Feliciano.  You were gone a long time.”

The words were simple, dead-pan, but the menace was in the way that the king traced the lip of his cup, smiling quietly to himself.

Ludwig stood as if transfixed.

“Dismissed.”

He rushed out.

The castle was arranged such that most of the nice banqueting halls and bedrooms were above ground, and barracks where the castle guard stayed buried beneath the ground.  Prisoners were usually sent to an island city in the middle of a polluted ocean, but the building did harbor a few cells at the ends of winding tunnels.

Ludwig ran in this direction, deeper and deeper into the bowels of this island, where it was uncomfortably warm and the air stagnant.  He ran in the dark, with a hand on a wall, feet following a steep incline.  He knew this way by heart.

He shoved through the door.

“—Feliciano!”

The cot creaked.  “Hmm, Ludwig?”  Muddled by sleep, his voice was quiet. 

Relief flooded through him.  He crossed the cell in two steps and took Feliciano’s face in his hands, laying gentle kisses to his lips, nose, cheeks.  “I thought—I thought you’d maybe come to some harm.  I was…I was gone a long time.”

Feliciano shook his head.  “Not more than the usual.  Ludwig, I’m okay, I promise.”  He yawned.

Ludwig pressed him into a crushing hug.  “Things are…things are happening.  You might get to leave very soon—the king has—“ He pulled back a little, holding Feliciano at arms’ length.  “Feliciano, why the blindfold again?”  He reached forward to brush his fingers against the thick linen knotted around his head, but did not try to tug it away.  “Are you…feeling okay?”

Feliciano shook his head.  “No.  Not really.”  He tried for a little smile, “But it’s okay, really.  They…they had me for an audience.  It…it stressed me out.  And of course they made me wear _this_ but it’s comforting anyway and doesn’t intimidate me like they think.”  He shrugged a little bit, “so joke’s on them, I guess.”

Ludwig sighed.  “Feliciano…”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to wear that around me.”

“I want to,” Feliciano said, taking Ludwig’s hands gently and lowering them from his face.  “At least for now.  I’m unsettled lately.  It helps.”

Ludwig made a frustrated noise deep in his throat.  “I’ll get you out of here one way or another.”

“I believe you,” Feliciano said.  He brushed his fingers gently against the little furrow in Ludwig’s brow then over the frown on his face.  “And I trust you.”  Those same fingers latched behind his ears and pulled him close so that he could kiss him, slow and gentle.

Ludwig closed his eyes into it, taking the other into his arms, as if he could shelter him there from all that threatened him—but knowing with a deep choking dread that he could not—and kissed him back.  Then he just held him, urging him onto his lap as he sat.  The cot screeched in protest and dipped down.

Feliciano hummed and rubbed a circle on Ludwig’s shoulder.

“Did they…did they make you do anything…while I was gone?” He finally asked.

Feliciano nodded.  Slowly.  “Just…intimidation stuff.  After what…happened to that sky pirate two years ago, people don’t dare step out of line.  That’s why—that’s why I want you to be careful, Ludwig.  Don’t do anything stupid even if it’s for my sake.”

“There are things I fear more than losing my life or my mind,” Ludwig said.  _Losing you_ , he wanted to say.

Feliciano sighed a little bit then tugged at his shirt, squirming free to remove it.  “It’s pretty hot in here.  That’s weird for something so deep underground, don’t you think?”

Trying to change the subject.

Ludwig helped him untangle the long sleeve from where it caught on his wrist, then rubbed at his shoulders.  The other was damp with sweat.  One hand paused at the rosy circle of scar tissue over Feliciano’s chest, just left of his sternum.  The heart beneath beat a slow rhythm. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” Feliciano promised.  He curled into him and slept.

Once Feliciano had been sleeping for a while, Ludwig left him there to send the message like he was told.  He had to be protected at all costs.

He passed a robed man on his way up toward the bird cages.  The other was tying a little scroll to the leg of a small eagle, clucking its tongue at it when it stamped from foot to foot, impatient.  He cradled it a little and pointed to an area on the map, then set it free.

He turned when he heard the click of heels echo in the dark room.  Birds squawked at the intruder.

“Hm?  Oh, Ludwig is it?”  He raised a considerable brow, lips pursed. 

Ludwig nodded.  “And you are…?”

“Arthur Kirkland,” he said, holding out a hand.  When Ludwig did not take it, he retracted it with a quiet little huff.  “One of my duties is to keep this end of the castle running smoothly,” he continued on, when the other did not speak. 

Ludwig was busy attaching the signed note to a smaller bird.  His hands shook as he did so.

“But namely I’m an alchemist,” Arthur continued. 

Ludwig gave a cold nod.  He took the bird in cupped hands and released it from the window.  “Well, good day to you, then.”  He started out.

“Feliciano told me you were a bit anti-social,” Arthur said.

Ludwig turned, mouth falling open.  “Anti…social?”

“Not his exact words,” Arthur said with a little smirk, “Don’t worry, he said it so fondly.”

“Just how are you acquainted with Feliciano?” Ludwig demanded.

“I’m been assigned to build an apparatus that will amplify his powers,” Arthur said, “So the two of us had a little chat while I tried to work through the schematics.  The kid packs a powerful punch just by _looking_ at you.  Head is _still_ spinning.”

“I don’t wish to talk about this,” Ludwig said.  “He’s not some monster.”

“I never said he was,” Arthur said.  He raised that same brow again, troubled.  “I actually rather liked him.  Friendly fellow.  Loves to tell stories, and listens really well.”  He shrugged a bit and brushed dust from the shoulders of his robe then, sidestepping bird droppings, brushed past Ludwig on his way out.  As he passed, he paused for only a second, “I’m on your side.  And I’m pretty crafty.  Something to keep in mind.”  And he was gone.

Ludwig was left wondering if he should talk to Feliciano about who he spilled his guts to.

\--

How the messenger birds knew to find their destination from a few words—and even locate the correct recipient—Gilbert never understood.  But here he was, in the light of pre-dawn, leaned out the window-hole of João’s little apartment, when a little sparrow smacked him in the face.

He yelped and flailed violently, falling back into a pile of limbs.

Lovino’s limbs—which he had painstakingly extracted himself from a few minutes earlier as not to wake him.

Lovino shot awake with a loud slew of curses.  “What the actual _fuck—”_

 _“D-dammit—“_   Gilbert, in scrambling to safety from Lovino’s flailing limbs and a few well-aimed kicks, rolled across the floor but somehow managed to keep the bird cupped safely in his hands.

The rest of the crew jolted awake during the commotion and sat staring, cutlasses, pistols, daggers, swords all drawn out of habit.  They lowered them slowly.

“You better have a damned good excuse for waking me up so early,” Antonio muttered.  He rubbed at his eyes, looking almost as murderous as Abel, who was lost somewhere in tousled hair and a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“And scaring the shit out of us in the process,” Abel continued.

“I got hit in the fucking face by a _bird_ , goddammit—“ Gilbert protested.  It cowered in his palms, but he only tugged the message free and set the creature on the window sill.

Gilbird joined it and hopped side to side in front of it, chirping loudly.  They chitchatted in this manner as Gilbert read to himself.

After mouthing the words quietly, he beckoned Lovino over. “Hey.  This was what I was talking about.”  He pointed the words out.  “Look, and it’s signed by the king…Lud wasn’t kidding when he said he could arrange this shit.”

Lovino looked at him.  “Does this mean…?”

Gilbert nodded, “You and I?  We’re going on a little vacation.”

“Vacation?” Antonio asked.

Gilbert glanced over his shoulder where the rest of the group tried not to hover.  “To Volare.”

Antonio’s eyes lit up, “How in the world did you manage something like that—who do you have _contact_ with that could get you that kind of access?”

Gilbert frowned, “My brother.  He feels bad for being an unsupportive asshole all these years, I guess.”

“Your brother, you say.”  Pensive, Antonio thought this over, but he only smiled, “Moving up in the world, I suppose.”

“What _ever_ could the king want with _you,_ I wonder,” Roderich said.  Still, that was a flash of envy in his eyes followed by a knowing little smirk. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gilbert said.  “This isn’t story time.” 

“Well, if you need a band to accompany you…” Elizabeta offered, smiling wanly.

Gilbert shook his head, “Something tells me they wouldn’t take kindly to an overabundance of visitors and,” he caught Antonio’s eye, “you have your brother to look after for a few week.”

João grumbled something like “Look after?  Ha.”

Antonio nodded, “That’s true.”

“We’ll, uh, we’ll rejoin you when we’re done,” Lovino said.  “Can we…send you a bird or something?  Re-meet?”

Antonio’s smile lit the room, genuine and wide.  “Of course.  You’re a member of the crew.  My family.  Sometimes we go our separate ways, but you’re always welcome to return.”

Lovino seemed pleased.  The tips of his ears tinged pink. 

“And I’m sure you’ll have all kind of stories to tell,” Antonio said, putting both hands on his shoulders.  “Great ones!  I want to hear all about what that city is like, so I feel like I was there too!”

“Y-yeah, I can do that,” Lovino said. 

Abel turned on Gilbert.  The hand he clapped to his shoulder was anything but light.  His eyes were steely.  “So.  Off solo for a bit.  Any idea how you’re supposed to _get_ there?”

Gilbert nodded, “it said the arrangements had been made.”

Abel nodded, “Hmm.  Don’t you dare allow any harm to befall the kid.  Or I’ll kick your ass.”

“I protect him with my life,” Gilbert said. 

“Like hell do I need protecting,” Lovino called out, “And I’m not some kid either.”

Abel smirked and tousled his hair, “You’re still shorter than me, makes you a kid.  But fine, protect that obnoxious albino since apparently you’re the adult out of the two.”

Lovino puffed out his chest.  “Yeah.”

“He’s _shorter_ than me—your logic doesn’t extend—“

Lovino kicked at his shin, “by like two damn inches—“

Embarrassed but flattered, Lovino allowed most of the crew to hug him in some fashion.  Antonio was last.  He lightly kissed both his cheeks.  “Come back in one piece.”

In the flurry of activity, Belle’s two whispered words—hoarse and strained—went unnoticed.  “Be careful.”  She wrung her hands and tried to speak louder, but the wall caught anything further.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also GUESS WHO SURVIVED.


	9. A Guest or a Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted you all to know that I'm almost done writing this story. There will be around 23 chapters in total, plus an epilogue. 
> 
> Update next Wednesday
> 
> whoops, I hurt my babies.

Just as promised, Gilbert found the wagon that had been sent from Kito toward the burning plains.  It was made similarly to the one that João traveled in, only newer, with fresh white paint and a canvas roof that wasn’t caked with mud.

The two climbed aboard and did not speak until they arrived in the city.  Gilbert waved the driver off and glanced up.

The highest point in the town, the bell tower leaned slightly to the left such that any little gust of wind sent the mallet tapping across the tilted bell.  It was a quiet, familiar sound, though, that people had ceased to hear after a few years, unless they specifically listened for it.

“Weird as hell,” Lovino said, staring up at it.  “You said the people we’re meeting are going to be there?”

Gilbert nodded, “Thank god.  Can’t imagine having to wander through this damn maze of a city for some inconspicuous shop.  Let’s just keep walking in that direction.  Bet we can see that tower from any point in the city anyway…”

Lovino sighed but walked alongside him.  “Gilbert, I’m excited and all that shit…but…I have a bad feeling.  You sure this is a good idea?”

“Dunno,” Gilbert said, “But it’s my brother.”  He sighed a little bit then exchanged a few coins for a couple of meat pies.  He handed one over, teeth sinking into his own, chewing as juices dribbled down his chin.  He wiped at it with the back of one hand.  “We don’t even _have_ to meet the king for that damn pardon.  Wasn’t planning on it, really.  Let’s just slip into Volare once they let us in and figure out what we can from there.”

“This is all because you’re worried I’ll fuck shit up if I don’t have my memories,” Lovino said, “Like I’m some kind of ticking timebomb.  But, Gilbert, how the hell do you know what kind of person I was before I lost my memories?  Maybe…maybe I was a bad person.  Maybe I destroyed for fun.”  He stared at his pie but did not eat it.

Gilbert tensed, “That’s not why at all—“  He clamped his teeth down on his lip.  “Lovi—it’s because I _care_ about you.”

With a glum shrug, Lovino started to pick at the sides of the pie, where the crust was crisp and browned. 

“All that shit about who you are—I’ve been thinking about what you said in the van—I have.  You make your own damn decisions about who you are.   But I’m thinking about that book.  I want to destroy who ever thinks they can use you…and I want you to stop staring off in the distance, sad because you can’t piece together all these damn flashbacks.”

Lovino brought a sleeve to his nose.  He was back in his old clothes—that borrowed shirt from Gilbert’s old house—looking just as dirty and lost as he always had.  “Then let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

“Plus, an adventure, remember?  The best team.”

They’d been walking faster with the uneasiness of their conversation.  Lovino came to a halt just before he stepped over the stone side of the man-made river bisecting the town.  “There’s the mansion the masquerade was in—do you think they found the body?”

“Who knows,” Gilbert said, “I guess eventually it’ll start smelling or something.”

They shuddered in unison.

Lovino pointed to the belltower, “Look, I can see the base of it.  It’s just down the street—“

They covered the rest of the ground in a brisk jog.  Lovino halted feet away, looking around.  He noticed the rusty little skyplane sitting in its shadow and pointed.  “That it?”

“I think so,” Gilbert said, “Looks military issue, similar to the ones that Alfred and them flew in that scuffle many years back when we were all climbing the ranks and all that.  Not exactly the most luxurious travel…”

Lovino shrugged.  “It’s step one.”  He paused, “Gilbert— _will_ shit change if I remember?”

“What…kind of shit?” Gilbert asked.

“You and me?  Will it change?”  Lovino bit at his lip.

Gilbert put on a grin for his benefit, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “Hell no,” he said.  “Nothing’s gonna fuck with the world’s greatest team.  That much I can promise you.  We got each other’s back.”

Lovino nodded slowly.  “Good.”  He lingered just a minute more, as if debating whether or not to say something else, lips parted, eyes solemn.  He turned and started to walk again.  “Let’s hurry it up then.”

“Y-yeah—“ Gilbert rubbed at his jaw, pining after a moment that didn’t happen, wondering if in any universe or any alternate timeline, it did.  He jogged to catch up.

The pilot leaned against the side of a plane just barely big enough to fit himself and a few passengers in a glass capsule overtop.  The wings were dented and worn, but the rivets set into dull metal gleamed bright.  It had undergone repair recently.  Chipped paint depicted something like a polar bear locking claws with the ruby-eyed badger that represented the King’s army.

Lifting his head, the pilot greeted them with a little smile and a firm handshake.  He wore a stiff uniform—newly pressed—with gleaming brass buttons but no real indication of high rank.  A leather aviation cap smothered wavy blond hair, which dripped with sweat in the heat only intensified by the red scarf thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.  He wiped at his forehead with one arm.

“You are Gilbert Beilschmidt, then?” he asked.  He spoke with a quiet voice, not lacking in an odd sort of knowing authority.  “I’m Matthew Williams, 5th fleet.”

“Fifth?” Gilbert asked, “Have we met before?”

Matthew shrugged, “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Just one of those faces, I guess,” Gilbert said.

Matthew smiled sheepishly.  “Maybe.  Anyway, I’m here to fly you as far as Hurtz where you’ll take the train toward the base of the first mountain.  Then it’s a blimp ride up to the Grounded Tier and other accommodations to the Third Tier.  Sound simple enough?”

“Sounds like a long-ass journey to me,” Gilbert said.  “There better be food provided or something.”

Matthew cocked his head.  “You’re traveling first class, I’d think that’d be a given.”

“Good,” Gilbert said.  Elated, he climbed up into the cockpit then squeezed into the seat.  Once Lovino tumbled in after him, he started securing and tightening a series of leather straps around them.  Lovino, uncomfortably wedged between the wall and his chest, grumbled a little.

Matthew scrambled in and secured thick brass goggles over his eyes, grinning wildly as he rolled the wheel to slowly lower the bubble over their heads.  He used several clamps to fasten it down.  “Ever rode one of these before?”

Gilbert shook his head.  His answer was cut out by the sudden loud whine of the engine.  The plane rattled and vibrated with enough intensity to clatter Gil’s teeth together.  “Damn,” he shouted.  He felt the words leave his lungs, but could not hear them. 

Matthew laughed, then took bits of rubber, balled them up, and jammed them into his ears.  He provided the same for his passengers, then started to wheel the plane out to a solid stretch of street.

The whine of the engine intensified into a high-pitched scream, as air shook the metal capsule and the wheels screeched against the cobblestone.  Citizens, hearing the commotion, ran for cover in little shops lining the street that had become a runway, and Matthew punched the gas.

The plane shot forward.  Thrusters hissed air from the wingtips, helping the plane gain lift.  They hit maximum speed, the wheels bouncing up and down until they curved upwards.

“D-dammit you’re headed for an alley--it’s too fucking narrow—“ Fortunately, Gilbert could not hear how his voice had pitched two octaves too high. 

Long wings scraped through the narrow opening with just inches to spare.  The alley curved.  A solid wall blocked their path.

Matthew only laughed, high off of the moment.  He twisted the wheel and the plane jerked sideways, squeezing with expert precision through an impossibly narrow gap.  He righted the plane into open air and directed it higher, until the city was just a memory.

Gilbert, heart pounding, yelped at the sudden realization that Lovino was clinging so hard that his nails had drawn blood.  “God _dammit_.”

Lovino screamed something at him, probably something obscene, but released him.

As they flew, the engine dulled to a drone past their earplugs, and when they landed out in a dried field of old grass, Gilbert felt as if his bones had been successfully ground into powder and his brain liquefied.  He stumbled from the plane on shaking legs, weak knees giving out to greet the ground he was desperate to kiss.  Lovino was not far behind.

“Thank fucking _god_ ,” Gilbert managed.  He ripped at some of the grass to anchor himself down.  His whole body shook from residual sensation.  “Never again.  Oh my fucking god never again—“

Matthew knelt beside him and rubbed at his back, “It’s something you get used to,” he said, “I actually enjoy it.”

“I’m all for thrills, but holy shit no just _no,”_ Gilbert whined.

Matthew sighed, “You’re fine.”

Lovino climbed to his feet.  He was considerably less green than Gilbert, and even managed a few steps on wavering legs.  “Holy shit—“  He grinned, “That was some fast flying or some shit.  Damn.”

“At least someone appreciated it,” Matthew said meekly.  “I tried to keep the maneuvering to a minimum.  We actually have competitions to see who can make the most complex motions with our planes.  We spin loops and go over backwards, even plan a game of tag with guns that shoot paint.  I’m decent at it, but you should see my _brother_.”

“Damn,” Lovino said. 

Gilbert finally climbed to his feet.  “You saw nothing.”  He glanced around, then hurried toward a pair of metal tracks half buried in the ground.  “This is…where the train track is.”

Matthew nodded, “Yeah, most of them carry coal and natural gases from place to place—you know that the Fourth Tier is where 65% of the gas is harvested in this nation—but sometimes the trains have cars for passengers too.  That’s where you’ll be going.  The town is more of a little outpost, but I’ll help you find it so you can hop aboard the train toward Hurtz.”

“So we just…follow them there?” Gilbert asked.

Matthew nodded, “I don’t have the clearance to land much closer.  Plus it’s pretty rocky up ahead, so the grass is easier on the plane.”  He patted its side with a fond little smile, “You do what you have to, eh?”

They walked for about a mile in a half in relative silence.  The stiff, short grass crunched underfoot.  Wind howled over the expanse, and a part of Gilbert was almost sad knowing that it would not bring a tide of fire over. 

Matthew pointed to a platform built from round stones cemented together.  “That’s the station.  Oh, and I was told to give you these.”  He handed over two notes decorated with gold flourishes.  “So they’ll let you on the train.  You’ll need them when you step off, too.  They don’t just let anyone up into the air taxi to see Volare.  This is treatment reserved for nobles and the highest ranking officers.”  He chuckled a bit with a little shrug, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.  One day, right?”

“That’s all any of us can ever hope,” Gilbert muttered.  He waved goodbye as Matthew set off, almost feeling bad for allowing the other to walk them all the way here only to walk all the way back.  Some people were too nice for their own good.

The town truly was just a little outpost, comprised of a few stops and a couple of shacks, and many beefy workers with large biceps, who were shoveling coal into chutes which scattered them into the beds of open train cars.  The train, filled, pushed forward toward the platform and with a solid hiss of steam, rested, its wheels taller than Gilbert.

“Damn,” he breathed.

Only two of many cars were designated for passengers, and these were simple cars filled with two rows of seats and little baskets overhead to stow any baggage.  A man allowed them on after careful inspection of their tickets.

Gilbert led Lovino over toward the back.  He leaned his head against one of the windows, not particularly interested in the scenery, but grateful to close his eyes and ignore the sweat pricking down the back of his neck.  Lovino sat beside him.  The seat was cushioned, but not by much.  This was going to be one long ride.

However, compared to the plane-ride, it was a walk in the park—with minimal rattling and lurching that either of them could easily ignore.  The churn of the wheels and puff of smoke bled into fatigue that put both of them out for the next few hours.

Lovino woke in the late afternoon, finding that the landscape was just cracked desert as far as he could see.  He groaned and pulled canvas curtains shut over their expanse of window, leaning over Gilbert to do so and waking him in the process.

“What…?”

Lovino patted at his face, “Shh.”  He leaned against his shoulder with a little yawn.  “Oi.  You’re going to tell me a thing before we go much further.”

Groggy, Gilbert tried to shift from under him.  “What…kind of thing?”

“You’re going for a pardon.  That means you did something that had to be pardoned.  Spill it, asshole.  I mean, if it’s resolved, then…it’s okay, right?”

Gilbert let out a long sigh.  “It still makes me angry to think about,” he said.

“So what?”

He only groaned and wrapped his arms around the other, trapping him in place against his chest, half pulling him onto his lap.

Lovino’s struggles were only half-hearted.  Gilbert was more comfortable than that damn seat would ever be.

“I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me,” Lovino said.

“The hell kind of secret would you even have?” Gilbert muttered.

“You’ll find out,” Lovino said.

“I don’t believe you have a secret,” Gilbert said, but he sighed and closed his eyes, losing himself to the memory and the musky scent of Lovino’s skin.  He tensed and loosened his hold.  What a dangerous line he straddled.  “Okay, fine, one second,” Gilbert said.

He watched as the sun sank lower in the sky.  There was no glorious sunset to see the day out, just a gradual fade of a dusty blue horizon to black.  Nearby cities and factories ate the stars, so there was just a thick stench of heavy air and a smog hugging the ground. 

“Okay.  It’s not like this story makes me look inherently shitty or anything.  If anything, I’m the good guy here.  It’s just that I’m one person and the king is one person with a fucking army.”

“Cut to the chase,” Lovino said, prodding him 

“So, when I was a soldier…” Gilbert started, “Huh, guess I should start from the beginning.  My brother and I…are the product of a divorced couple.  Unofficially, because you know how the law looks upon shit like that. But the excuse was that our father held a high position as a merchant, and lived in Volare, which is where Ludwig spent most of his childhood.”  He snorted a bit, “Didn’t do much for him in terms of manners.  But I grew up in a little town by the river junctions where steamboats crisscrossed.  I don’t know many of the details, but our father was either demoted or died or _something_ , so Ludwig came to live with us.”  He pursed his lips and shifted Lovino a bit in his lap.

With the evening came cool air and a sense of weary quiet.

“He was a little…off.  Suffered from headaches a lot back then. Couldn’t remember much from his time at Volare, which was odd as hell.  We assumed he hit his head.  I guess this just made me want to protect him even more.  He was my little brother, you know?  Had to raise him right, because our mom was busy as hell just trying to put food on the table.  When we were old enough, we decided to stop being burdens, so we joined the military.  By then the headaches were gone, so he was able to function and even climbed ranks just as fast as I did.  The two of us?  We paid attention to detail.  We were strong.  Loyal.  Handsome as hell.”  He managed a little scoffing laugh at himself.

“I was in charge of several platoons when it happened,” he continued, “Ludwig and his men had been sent to quell the rebellion that sprung up a few years back.  It had finally come to a head and posed a threat—I guess because they’d found _you_.”  He made a vague gesture at Lovino.

That gesture moved to point to himself.  “Me?  I was assigned to help quiet the unease in a prairie very close to Kayma.  That’s when I met Antonio, actually.  He was just a runaway then, with his damn stolen ship.  I was supposed to give the orders to mine into a mountain, because they thought there might be a deposit of Silf there.  But in doing so…with the explosives that we had, it would cause the upper half of that mountain to topple and destroy the villages in the valley below.  Not to mention…a huge reservoir at the _top_ of the mountain.  It would have been messy, is all I’m saying.”

Gilbert swallowed.  Lovino had tilted his head up to stare intently at him, engrossed in his story.

“I was going to do it,” Gilbert said, “I said, ‘fuck everything’ because disobeying is _not_ something a soldier does.  A good soldier… a _good_ soldier doesn’t question orders.”  He swallowed again.  Tendons bulged in his wrists as he tightened his fists, “A good soldier knows that sacrifices must be made for the good of the kingdom—“

“Would you rather be a good soldier or a good man,” Lovino breathed.

Gilbert grunted but allowed Lovino to pry open his fists and wedge his fingers between his. 

“I’d rather be in a position where I wouldn’t have to choose between the two,” he grumbled.  “It was actually Antonio who appealed to me.  That man…is fierce.  There is some kind of fucked up pent up rage inside him that makes him stand up for people he doesn’t even fucking _know_.”  He shook his head a little bit, still bewildered.  “So I gave him key information to sabotage the mission, then did my damndest to halt the operation.  Refused to give the order.  Tried to make it impossible for us to enter the mountain.  But it was all for fucking naught, because they just cut me down and replaced me and the mountain still went down.  Those villagers, dead.  Me?  Demoted and exiled.”  He pressed his free hand against the window.  “So in the end it was a worthless fucking mistake.”

Lovino wrapped around him, the pang in his chest only intensified by the pain in Gilbert’s eyes.  “I’m sorry…”

“It’s the past,” Gilbert said, “One mistake led to another, but here I am, so it’s not like I regret the _outcome_.  If anything, I can put up with the dishonor tarnishing my name more so than the damn _guilt_ about failing to save that damn village.”

Gilbird poked his head from Gilbert’s front pocket and clicked its beak.

“That’s also how Gilbird got broken the first time,” Gilbert admitted, reaching his finger out for the bird to perch.  “When it was just a mess of nicely placed gears and a clockwork track.”

“He’s better this way,” Lovino agreed.  His head found the crook of Gilbert’s neck again as he lazily petted the bird with one finger.

“Hey,” Gilbert said, “You said you’d tell me a secret.  And I spewed my whole fucking life story at you, so fess up.”  He was relieved for the automatic change in subject, and wondered if Lovino had done that on purpose.

“I don’t know if it counts as a secret,” Lovino said.

Gilbert elbowed at him.  “Oi, don’t make promises you can’t deliver.  Asshole.”

His face went scarlet.  He looked like he wanted to say something but clamped his mouth shut, then opened it again.  “You--you should have known I was lying, you dumbass,” Lovino said, “You know just as much about my life as I do, which, sadly, really isn’t that much.”  He sighed a bit, voice dying down into little more than a whisper, “I guess what I’m getting at is that it _isn’t_ a damn secret, I’ve just never said it out loud.”

Gilbert felt the breath catch in his throat, “What…do you mean?”

“D-damn you, don’t play fucking _coy_ ,” Lovino muttered, turning his head the other direction. 

“I’m not being coy _you’re_ being coy—“ Gilbert protested.

The moon hid behind a haze. 

Something was too quiet.

The carts lurched back and forth with the screech of brakes as the train ground to a halt in the middle of scrubland.

“The—the hell?”

Doors slammed open in each of the passenger cars.  Pulling away from Lovino, Gilbert stood, drew his dagger, and slipped past him.  “Hold on a second…”

“God fucking _dammit_ ,” Lovino said, standing as well, “Gilbert—I thought it was odd there was no one on this fucking train—I think—they’re—it’s an ambu—“

“Ambush?”  Gilbert twisted the dagger in his hand into stabbing position.  “Fuck.  _Fuck_.  Bandits?”

Soldiers filed on, outfitted with Silf swords, officers carrying pistols.

Gilbert blanched.  Anger twisted deep in his gut.  He saw red.  “ _Ludwig, you coward,”_ he spat.

He recognized some of those men, grown taller and fuller since his days as a soldier.  Men who had climbed the ranks with him, some who had answered to his authority.

Men that now quietly surrounded him, haughty but quiet, weapons raised.  The man with the highest rank, a general, raised his pistol.  “Okay, Gilbert Beilschmidt.  We’re not particularly interested in _you_ , so if you’d just step aside…”

“I’m a goddamned fool,” he breathed.  He did not move.  “If you’re interested in Lovino, he’s not what you’re looking for.  He wouldn’t hurt a damn fly.  Especially not at your command.”

The general scoffed, “We know.  We already _have_ his brother.  They come in a set, you know.  And it’s time we collected the other half.”

“My…brother…is alive?”  Lovino swallowed.  He put a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.  “Gilbert...if we resist, they’ll just shoot you and I’ll be taken anyway.  Let me—let me go with them.  I’ll be fine…I— _my brother_.”

“But Lovino I—“

Lovino shook his head.  He shook and his lip trembled, but he drew himself up.  “Let me do this.  I—I’m not afraid.  I’m valuable, remember?  He won’t hurt me.”

Gilbert shook his head, “Not _kill_ you maybe but hurt you definitely—“

“Trust me,” he said quietly, “Trust me as much as I trust you.”  He clutched at the collar of Gil’s shirt, keenly aware of the weapons trained on them from all directions and the impatient shuffling of the soldiers watching them.  “I know you won’t be far behind,” he breathed, almost silently.  He closed the gap, demanding as much as he could from Gilbert’s mouth. 

The albino’s lips parted in a small gasp.  This was wrong.  This wasn’t how he imagined their first kiss going.  A moonlit train ride toward a fabled city maybe—but not in the middle of an ambush.  Not punctuated by urgency and fear and a sick dread that tasted like bile.  “Lovino—“

Lovino’s hands stroked either side of his face.  He kissed again, grappling for seconds he could not afford, before he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder.  A cautious soldier yanked him into their midst and twisted his arms behind him.  The thief yelped as heavy ropes tightened around his wrists and a heavy cloth smothered his vision.  He stumbled in response to the pistol butt prodding his back, trying to look back even though he could not see.

Gilbert could only watch them drag him away.  Cold fear hardened into something jagged and icy within him.  Time had halted.

“Good luck,” one of the soldiers murmured to him, lashing both his hands to the seat bar in front of him.  “This train goes miles and miles off toward the ocean.  Hop on a boat and sail to another land.  You were exiled, remember?  It’s for your own good.”

The rest filed after their group and piled into a caravan.

\--

There was no measuring time or distance.  The blindfold smothered any concept of reality, while disoriented ears picked up the shuffle of boots and guttural shouts of men.  He was pushed into a room somewhere—rough concrete walls scraped his elbow and upper arm.  He could only manage to curl up.  His own weight cut his circulation to one arm, still twisted painfully behind his back.  Numbness settled in cold prickles down his wrist.

The world lurched once more.  A thin whine of motors and the hiss of steam overwhelmed his senses.  He smelled the tang of his blood and the earthy scent of coffee wafting from _somewhere_.  He did not know if he was alone or still surrounded.  He strained his ears for the shift of movement.  He heard nothing.

He coughed weakly.

It must have been hours.  His head swam from a thinning atmosphere.  He could only barely wonder if Gilbert was alright, and if they had hurt him after they’d torn them apart. 

 _No use thinking like that, you dumbass_ , he thought.  _He’s fine.  He has to be fine._

The kiss kept replaying in his head.  If only he’d been able to blurt out his feelings sooner.  Back at the masquerade when he’d been so desperate to kiss him, long and slow, not urgent and terrified.  The ghost of his lips still lingered, the way that they trembled, the tears that he refused to shed.  He still felt his warmth near him, and the peculiar way he smelled, as if he’d been tinkering and the brass and oil had soaked into his skin. 

Wet patches seeped into his blindfold. 

 _I’ll get out of this_ , he reassured himself. _I’ll remember how to rip people to shreds…and I’ll do that to them.  Tear them apart til there’s nothing left for daring fuck with me or Gilbert._  

The vessel clattered against something then jerked to a stop.  Shouting, men clambered around on what was presumably an upper deck.

An airship--?

Something metal clattered.  Heavy coils of rope clumped down somewhere.  Men grunted with exertion.  Something hissed.  Rope creaked, pulled tight around something.

The door scraped open and Lovino felt cold air slap his face.  He grit his teeth as three men hauled him up by the armpits, but managed a few stumbling steps to keep up with their pace.

Then they were out in air too thin for Lovino.  He huffed and panted but continued walking, terrified of falling and oddly thankful for the fingers digging into his skin.  His shoes sounded hollow—he was walking on a thin layer of wood.  That sound transitioned into dull clicking.  Stone?

The clatter of chains followed the rattle of what must have been gates.  Men spoke in soft voices.  The gates screeched and they were walking again.

It must have been nighttime.  Lovino could not see the red sunbursts that would have bled through his blindfold, just pitch black.  The air had an odd chill to it that carved his lungs hollow.  He could hear the breath scrape through his throat with each wheeze. 

They paused again.  The next door clicked.  Wooden.  It swung open with just a sigh and they were inside.  This time Lovino felt oddly dense carpet underfoot.  The voices of the soldiers, though hushed, echoed.

An eternity of walking later, Lovino felt a hand on his head shove him into a kneeling position.  The floor here was hardwood.  The hairs on the back of his neck rose.  He knew he was being appraised, though he could not hear his appraiser save for a few huffing breaths and the draw of a cigar that lit the air with its sweet scent.  Somewhere nearby, a small fire crackled.

Footsteps drew nearer.  His appraiser stood close. 

The shift of clothes.

Hot breath hit his face.  He fought the urge to cringe.

Hot breath hit his face.  He fought the urge to cringe.

“So,” a gentle voice said, “I take it that I am speaking to Lovino Vargas at long last.”

Lovino gritted his teeth but nodded.  “D-don’t you dare think I’m afraid of you.”

He heard a breathless laugh.  Something tugged at his blindfold, and he found himself staring into the eyes of a crowned man, fat and dressed simply, beard trimmed neatly, eyes twinkling. 

Lovino scowled as fiercely as he could. 

“Hello, Lovino,” the king said.  “You can call me William.  We will see a lot of each other, so I think it is best if we skip the formalities.”  He sighed, taking in the sight before him, “I’ve been trying to track you down for years.  You look a lot like your little brother, I hope you are aware.”

“I want to see him,” Lovino said.  He shuddered, trying to ignore the hungry way that William’s eyes bored into him.

The king patted his cheek.  “Everything in its own time.”

This time Lovino did flinch.

That earned him another pat before the king stood once more.  “I think you will come to appreciate living in a place such as this.  Tomorrow I will give you the grand tour of all that my engineering genius has wrought, making these floating islands inhabitable.  We have that in common, bringing ideas to life.  Anything I want to achieve, I build.  Together, we will achieve beyond even these islands.”

Lovino cocked his head, confused.  “…the _hell_ are you talking about?”

The king must have mistaken his confusion for something else, because he grabbed the dagger from Lovino’s pocket and slashed through his bindings.

Lovino fell forward, thankful he was able to catch himself with his hands.  Pain flashed through them.  He massaged at his wrists to help return feeling, ire rising in his throat when the king handed that dagger off to one of his soldiers.

“A moonlight tour will suffice,” King William said, glowing with excitement.  “Really, I cannot wait to get started, so you will have to witness everything for yourself.”

Guards escorted him a few steps behind the king down the hall of his great castle.  Lovino’s head throbbed more with every step.  The endless mirrors in one section brought the sudden urge to vomit.  Still, he stared at his reflection, wondering when he’d become so small and helpless.

They walked outside, around toward the back of the courtyard, which was flourishing in a labyrinthine sand path lined by flowering bushes.  The king lit a lantern resting on a pole near the door, then jerked it up from the ground.  The fire cast a lambent glow across dusty glass.  He carried it as they walked.

“Take a look,” he said, pointed upward.

Lovino’s knees went weak.  Above them rested a giant hunk of rock and dirt and roots, the bottom of the Fourth Tier, suspended several hundred feet above.  Countless stars wrapped into galaxies swirled and glittered endlessly beyond.  The thief felt his breath leave him.  Captivated, he stood staring upwards, wondering if such a marvel existed everywhere, or if only the members of the Wingless City enjoyed such beauty.  He forgot where he was and just stood, feeling impossibly tiny.

“It really is something, is it not?” the king said, placing a hand on his shoulder.  He pointed again, this time toward the edge of the island, which was gated on its entire periphery to separate land from the sheer drop below.  “Come.”

He walked him toward the edge.  Lovino wrapped his fists around the gates, not trusting himself to stand firmly.  There was a metal trough lining the island beyond the gate.  It separated into veins, some of which dug beneath the fence and released into manmade ponds, filled with clear water.  One vein swooped around half the island, then released into a chute downward.

“Let me be clear when I say that there is no leaving this Tier unless you are specifically given permission.  You could test your luck dropping down, but it is a few hundred feet and you would die.  And the men in charge of the air taxi will not let you on unless you have the proper papers.”  The king smiled, “but you will have everything that you need here.  You will not want to leave.”

Lovino shivered.  “I’m a prisoner.  Don’t fucking act like I’m a guest.”

“You can be both,” the king said.  He pointed back to the trough.  “I engineered this myself.  It collects the rainwater in big basins on each level, to help supply the cities, since we have no natural source of water bubbling up from the ground. “  He reached over and pulled a lever sticking up at one of the containment units.  With a metallic moan, its jaws opened and water came gushing out.  It traveled the trough and spilled out over the basin at the end.  This dropped straight down into the next tier with a thunderous roar.

The king dragged him over to that side and jammed magnification goggles onto his head.  “Take a look.”  He pointed again, like an over-excited child.

Lovino could see the water collect in the basin below and continue its travel down the perimeter of the island beneath them.

“When it rains, the basins fill with the water supply, and the excess runs off like this, essentially turning this Tiered City into a work of art.  A fountain with many tiers.”  He grinned.  “We have a second line for waste, so really we are very efficient in this regard.”

“…Yeah, but whatever godforsaken city or village is below gets shat on,” Lovino muttered.

The king shrugged, “That is their fault for choosing to live there.”  He took the goggles back and jostled Lovino back to his feet.  “Please make your attitude more agreeable.”

“Look,” Lovino said, “Sure this place is cool or whatever, but I’m _not_ going to work for you or whatever the hell it is that you want me to do.  If you knew what was good for you, you—you’d send me home on one of your damn taxis.  O-or I’ll rip your mind apart.  Don’t think I can’t—“

The king furrowed his brow, “I am not sure I follow…?”

“That’s why I’m here, right?  To destroy your enemies or some shit?  I’m not going to—“

“You—Is it possible that you do not know of your own powers?” the king marveled.  “I have had the Destroyer for years.”

“W-what?”

The king had his soldiers lead Lovino inside.  They halted in the throne room, where the king sat at his table and picked apart a clump of grapes, popping a few in his mouth, but mostly arranging them into little bowls.  “Unless you are playing dumb to protect your precious brother, which I can assure you will not work.  I have known about and used his powers for years.  Convenient, yes, but I’m more interested in _you_ , as the Creator—“

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lovino said. 

“I want to build my kingdom, not destroy it,” the king continued, as animated as before.  He spoke with his hands sweeping wide gestures.  “When I was younger, I used to dream about robots that did my bidding.  Less maintenance than soldiers.  More loyalty.  No questions of fatigue or human limitations. Immortal, essentially.  And think of the inventions I could bring to life?  Ways to power cities, more efficient cars.  You can make it possible.  You can bring machines to life.  You can make my people fear and regard me.  You can reach into their minds and make them _loyal_.  Eager to serve without thought to their own needs.”

Lovino could only shake his head.  “You—you’re full of shit—that kind of power is _not_ in me.  I’m not—I’m not some damn creator.  Nothing good will ever come from _me_ , you dumb asshole—a-and even if it _did_ by some damn _miracle_ , I would _never_ use it to help you.”

The king’s brow furrowed, but he produced a mechanical grasshopper from his pocket then, grabbing Lovino by the wrist, thrust him forward until his palm slammed into the little creature.  It jolted to life and skittered away.

“You cannot lie to me,” the king said.  “The proof is right before my eyes.”  He smiled, not masking the breathless amazement as he watched the grasshopper slip beneath the crack of the door.

He sighed happily. “Every piece of machinery you come into contact with you animate in some way.  Didn’t you ever wonder where those mechanical firefly viruses came from?  That is just one manifestation of your power, and the fact that whole _plains_ are lit with their glow speaks to the capacities that you have.  And to think that they can _reproduce_ and _share_ that power.  You are valuable.  You are powerful.”  He sidled closer, hungry and lit with greed, “And most importantly, you are lucky that _I found you first.”_

Lovino stumbled back.  “It was Corrado who wanted me—you didn’t—“

The king shook his head, “I led Corrado on.  Aided his journey.  And he led me right to you and your brother.  He wanted the Destroyer.  I knew how to lay the trap to kill him once and for all, for daring contest my rule.  He played right into my hand and revealed your location.  Somehow _you_ managed to escape—I think he and his men had you and your brother’s powers _confused_ —but at long last I’ve _found_ you.”

All Lovino could do was shake his head.  “No.  _No_.  I will not help you.  I won’t.  And you can’t control me.  Y-you are not fit to have such power—I’ve seen many cities in the past few months.  All those people who are _starving_ to death and soldiers that don’t keep the peace but rather leach off of the citizens and abuse their authority.  You’re not a king.  A king brings prosperity.  He rules justly.  P-people don’t huddle in the streets.  Nobles don’t tax the shit out of people and force them to work endlessly in dangerous mines.  I’m not going to _help_ you fuck everything up even _worse.”_

With a sharp ring, the nearest soldier whipped his dagger from his sheath and pressed it into Lovino’s neck.  The thief choked a bit and shied away from the cold grip of the steel. 

“I see,” the king said, “that you’re going to be just as difficult as your brother, even when offered so much.  I have little patience for brats like you.  But remember, even the strongest will can be worn down.  So easy or hard, you will eventually bend to my requests.”  He snapped his fingers, “Guards, see to it that he reconsiders his attitude as a guest of the king.  Let him know the other kind of hospitality that we offer here.  He cannot hurt you like Feliciano can, so make sure he screams.”

Lovino sprang to his feet and made a run for it, pounding down the hallway.  He knew there was no way out.  No place over the gates that would offer a safe journey toward the ground.  No hope.  But he ran anyway, blood rushing to his ears, until soldiers clogged the hallways and brought him down.  He heard himself scream as something heavy slammed into the back of his head.  He tasted blood.

He saw nothing.


	10. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert convinces what's left of a crew of pirates to take to the skies. Lovino is reunited with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the Nordics. Well, most of them. I've never written them either (this fic has a lot of firsts for me, tbh), so I'm doing my best. Lukas has the saddest story of all of them, in my opinion. I'm playing with the idea of a spin-off focusing on the Nordics as a pirate crew, leading up to the events that leave them where they are for this story.
> 
> I finished writing the fic last night. (~134K words?) Now what's left is some intense editing. Update next Wed?

For the next hour or so, Gilbert twisted his fists against the lashings but only succeeded in burning the skin of his wrists, his spine throbbing with each new motion.  Eventually he settled with his head on his hands, trying to muddle through his options.

If he could somehow reach his dagger, then he could cut through this cord, but it was stuffed in his belt.  He tried leaning down to snap at it with his teeth.  Too far.  Pain shot through his neck. 

“Dammit…”  His voice was hoarse.  His head spun.  “ _Dammit_.”

Dawn started to seethe across the horizon as the sun slunk upwards.  It brought harsh light with it.  Gilbert snapped his eyes into a squint and hissed with frustration.  He tried thrashing.  That brought blood where his skin was already tender and worn away.

“Ludwig, when I find you, I’ll rip your fucking head off,” he muttered.  “Stab you in the traitorous lack of balls—“  He felt himself sob, “Goddammit, _Lovino_ , you better be okay…you better be—you better be just fine—dammit I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ , this is all my fucking fault—“

Once again, after what seemed like an eternity, the train wound to a slow stop and died with a puff of steam.  It swayed as men boarded, unloading the coal and other precious cargo from the other cars.

The door closest to him rolled open.

A head poked in.  It looked right then left.  “H-hey—are you alright?”  A short man climbed aboard and made directly toward him.  He wore an old, plastic coat that dwarfed a petite frame.  The same water that ran rivulets down his face had plastered blond hair to his forehead.

“Do I look alright,” Gilbert said, though there was no bite in his voice.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I can leave you alone.”  He inspected the lashes with a little sigh and drew a tiny dagger from his belt.  “But I know you’d start to beg the minute I turned away so—“  He sawed through the ropes with a serrated edge of the peculiar curved blade, “and I don’t like to diminish anyone to something like that, even if he _does_ seem to have pride issues.” 

Gilbert immediately massaged at his wrists, but cried out as the pain seared fresh.  “ _Shit.”_

His acquaintance pointed a thumb toward the door, “I can take you somewhere to get a salve for that.  You don’t want it to go green.”

Gilbert only nodded.  “Yeah…that would be…uh appreciated.”

A second head popped in, this time belonging to a stony-faced tall man with spectacles.  “…Tino.  We’ve retrieved our wares.”  He stared at Gilbert.  Silent.  His lips turned down into a frown.  “Who’s this?”

“Involuntary passenger,” Tino explained.

That seemed to mean something to the second man, who just nodded and retreated.  “Hurry it up, then,” he said from outside.  The crunch of shoes on gravel marked his departure.

“Come on,” Tino said, “The train will start moving soon.”

“Well that’s _good_ because the place I need to be is like who knows how many miles from where I _came_ —“

Tino shook his head, “No, it’ll head west down the coastline for one hundred or so miles then triangle back to the original destination.  That would take _days_.”

Gilbert groaned and buried his forehead in his hands.  “Are you fucking kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” Tino said as he tugged on his elbow.  “Hey, we can find someone who will take you to where you need to go.  It’s no big deal.”

Gilbert stumbled out after him.  “It might be too _late_.”  He felt panic rise in his chest, but concentrated on taking level breaths. 

A wave of salty air clouded his senses.  From beyond the puffing and hissing of the train as it churned into motion, he could hear waves driving themselves onto the shore.  The tracks to the train were half buried in sand, fortified by rotting wood and heavy stones.  With a wave of dizziness, Gilbert sank to his knees.

Tino started to haul him up by that same elbow.  He was deceptively strong for his petite frame.  “Hey, this isn’t a good place to have a breakdown.  Wait until we’re on the ship…”

He waved his companion over.

“This is Berwald,” Tino explained, “Don’t assume he doesn’t like you just because he doesn’t say much.”  He shrugged a little bit, “It upsets him and he really does try.”

Berward gave him a look.  “Enough teasing.”  He shifted the heavy burlap bag on his shoulder with a little grunt.  “Is he coming with us?”

Tino nodded.  “If he can walk as far as the docks…”

“Can’t carry both him and the wares,” Berwald said simply. 

“I can manage,” Gilbert said.  “I’m not hurt.  Just…out of it.”

They trudged down the dunes toward where the waves lapped the shore.  The water was murky.  Thick foam slid effortlessly across shining sand in an intricate web that surged then retreated.  Broken bits of shells and glass studded the beach. 

Rows and rows of rotting docks stretched out at varying lengths into the moody sea.  Men sat fishing on some, but others held tight to little rowboats that bobbed up and down. 

“There’s no town here?” Gilbert asked, staring back and forth.  He saw that the sand was churned with footprints, but saw no makings of buildings.

Tino shook his head, “We live on our boats out in the ocean.  There is an island we do trade with.  And the train.  We send goods over to several cities down the coast and receive any supplies we need from Kito.  It’s a solitary life.”

“Had enough of people,” Berwald said.

“For a while, anyway,” Tino agreed.

The look that Berwald gave him said forever.

The dock groaned and shook with their weight as they walked to the end and lowered themselves into a small boat.  It dipped lower in the water.  The sack thunked into the bottom and Berwald untangled the briny rope so he could push them into the ocean.  He and Tino each took an oar and paddled.

Gilbert sat with his knees to his chest, using seasickness as an excuse to retreat to himself and stare listlessly at the little dollops of water.

They approached the metal, riveted hull of a massive boat far out in the waters, and attached their smaller boat to metal hooks hanging down, one on each end.  Tino gave a shout and a head popped over the side, shouted something back, then started to heave at a wheel that hoisted the boat up.  They climbed over the side and secured the boat onto the deck with ropes.

“The hell is this?” a boy, probably not over fifteen, asked, panting heavily.  A small, white dog sat at his feet, wagging its tail with such intensity that its butt wiggled with it.

“Gilbert,” Gil answered, wiping seawater from his eyes.

“Emil,” said the boy, looking to Tino questioningly.

Tino quickly explained:  “Involuntary passenger.”  He stooped down to smooch the dog on the forehead, saying a quick hello to it.

The boy scoffed.  “Oh.” 

“Right,” Tino continued, “Welcome to our ship.  You met me and Berwald, and that’s Emil.”

“Just the three of you?” Gilbert asked, “On this huge ship?”

“Sometimes we hire men to help in the fishing season,” Tino explained, “But yes.  Just the three of us most of the time.  And Hanatamago, my dog.  Speaking of fish…Emil, did you repair those nets like I asked?”

Emil chewed at the inside of his lip.  “Uh, I forgot.”

If Berwald could bottle audible disappointment, it would be in the form of his sigh.  “Then get to it.”

Emil raced toward where thick, slimy nets were piled in the corner and pulled out fishing line and a needle.  He dragged them out flat and started to work, mumbling under his breath.

Gilbert looked around once more.  The rails around the deck and the air vents looked all too familiar.  “This is an airship—“

“Was,” Berwald said as he dug through a metal box and unwrapped some fish from old cloth.  They had been soaked in salt water to keep them fresh enough.  He took a serrated blade and started expertly shaving the scales from either side then cut the filets away from the tail.  He threw the bones and heads in one pile, and the laid the meat out carefully in another.  From his bag of wares he dug out a jar of what looked like a green paste.  He slathered this onto the meat.  It was clear that he did not feel like finishing the conversation.

So Gilbert turned to Tino.  “You used to be air-men?”

Tino nodded slowly.  “Pirates, actually.  But we also did trade.”   He spoke too quietly for Berwald to hear.  “That was a lifetime ago.”  He shed his baggy plastic coat and wadded it up.  Beneath he wore a softened leather overcoat, long and dyed a faded blue.  “Fishing is more…reasonable in terms of making a living.  We just don’t have the heart for the skies anymore.”  Hanatamago whined at his feet, as if agreeing.  This time Tino ducked down to scoop the dog up into his arms.

“Oh…” Gilbert said. 

He watched Berwald chip away at two pieces of flint until sparks drifted into a nest of papers he’d settled in an iron pot.  He blew softly until they caught hold, then slowly scattered first woodchips then logs in.  Once it was hot enough, he placed the filets on a grate that fit easily over top the pot.  “Dinner,” Berwald explained.  The fish sizzled and crackled.

Gilbert leaned against what he assumed was an old cannon.  “Look, it’s not like I don’t…appreciate your hospitality, but could you take me to someone who can get me to Volare?”

Tino’s head snapped up.  “Volare?  Why do you want to go _there_?”

“S’dangerous,” Berwald added.  He fanned at the fish with a heavy piece of parchment as it started to bubble and seethe. 

Gilbert opened his mouth to speak, but Emil plopped himself down beside them.  “Net is fixed—“

“Properly?” Berwald asked.

“Of course,” Emil muttered.

Tino shushed him.  “Gilbert, is that why you were tied to that train?  I’m afraid the same thing is going to happen if you try it again.  There is no infiltrating Volare if you’re not welcomed there.”

“I’ve got to _try_ ,” Gilbert said.

“They’ll destroy you,” Tino insisted.  “Like they did our captain.”

“Tino.”  There was a harsh warning in Berwald’s voice.

Tino clamped his mouth shut, but frustration was plain on his face.  “Look, it’s a fools’ errand going there.”

“My friend is there—“ Gilbert insisted.  “M-my lover.  He was taken prisoner.  We were _ambushed_.  He’s depending on me—I don’t _care_ if I died, it means that I at least tried.”

At this, Berwald’s face seemed to soften.  He grumbled something to himself and beckoned Tino over to him.  “Emil, watch the fish.”  They disappeared into the bridge.

Emil fanned them, but kept his eyes on that closed door.  “Don’t tell me you actually talked _sense_ into them for once,” he said.

“What…?”  All Gilbert could do was sit and watch Emil work, a mix of anxiety tinged with hope boiling inside of him.

“They miss the skies,” Emil muttered, rolling his eyes, “Every day that they fish, every evening, I see them staring up there like freaking losers.  Like they can’t just pop this ship in the air any time that they wanted.”

“O-oh.”  He glanced up to the pale, uneasy sky.  A mist blanketed the ocean and filtered the sun into tangible rays at it slowly worked its way upward. 

Emil frowned, masking a yawn.

“Did…Tino and Berwald have some kind of quarrel with the king?” Gilbert asked, “Because, if they did, then I can propose a partnership of some sort.”

“Not a quarrel,” Emil said, picking at a loose fiber on his sleeve, “At least not a direct one.  They just wanted to steal back a load of precious metals that _his_ troops commandeered.  Customs inspection, he called it, but it robbed a month’s wages from the people who needed to sell it.  I didn’t get to go raid the palace because apparently I’m a freaking _child_.  But it was bad.  We had a sizable crew.  Only Tino, Berwald, and Lukas made it out in one piece.”

“You’re saying that they made it _into_ Volare?  Illegally?  I thought that was impossible.” 

“Not if you’re smart,” Emil said, “Or so Lukas said.  And he managed it, so I guess that makes him smart.”

“Where is this Lukas…?” Gilbert asked.  “You said he survived so—“

 “He left.”  He pressed his lips into a thin line, “He’s more worried about what he lost than those of us that survived.  Like his own little brother.”  He swallowed then grit his teeth, expression stony, “Half brother.”  He pulled the grating from the pot, hissing as the metal seared through the cloth he used to protect his hands.  The fish was browned, the skin cracked and hot.  His brow furrowed and his eyes turned dark.

“Oh,” Gilbert managed.  “I—so what do you think the chances are that we’ll get this baby into the air and head to Volare?”

“Depends,” Emil said, “On a lot of things.”  He scoffed and glowered elsewhere, done with the conversation.

Gilbert grunted, “Well, if they can’t help me, then they’d better at least point me in the direction of someone who _can_.  I don’t have much time to waste if they’re going to take forever deliberating on it.”

The door to the bridge swung open and Tino emerged.  “Emil, shovel coal into the engine.  Get this girl started.  I think it’ll take a lot of energy to get her skyborn, especially with this stagnant wind, but we can manage.”

Emil jumped to his feet, face a flash of excitement before he schooled it into a blank stare.  “Finally bored of fishing?”

Tino nodded, “This is a temporary thing.  But…yeah, we’re hitting the skies.”

Berwald had remained in the bridge, but he’d released the stop on the wheel then started working the crank to draw the anchor up from the water. 

“Do you really expect only three men to fly this thing.” Emil said.

Tino nodded, “Four, technically.  Our Involuntary Passenger is going to pull his weight.”  He smiled cheekily.  There was a light resurrected in his eyes and a fresh bounce to his step as he scurried across the deck to check the lashings, then ran to the mast to unfurl the sails.  They glimmered with the solar powered metal had been sewn into the fabric, but hung limp from the lack of wind.

A fan started whirring somewhere.  Steam hissed and water churned through pipes.  The ship started to move.

“Our sweetheart is probably loaded down with barnacles,” Tino said, “Looks like Emil will have his hands full scraping them off!”

Emil groaned, “Seriously?!  It’s not _my_ fault you parked her in the ocean for two years, now is it.”

“Berwald and I have a ship to fly,” Tino said.  “Which is its own set of challenges.”

Gilbert raised his hand, “Look, if you fly me to Volare as fast as humanly possible, then I will scrape off every barnacle I see.  Until my knuckles bleed, even.”

Tino nodded, “Then it’s a deal!  You and Emil can be the designated barnacle scrapers.  We can’t ride an ugly ship across this country.  Especially not to Volare.  Mathias would take personal offense.”

He raced to the edge of the ship just as it skated across the very surface of the water and finally achieved lift.  He grinned and threw his head back with a laugh.  Hanatamago barked along.

\--

“God, I hope this doesn’t last long,” a peculiar voice said just beyond the edges of Lovino’s consciousness. 

His head swam.  Blotches of light filtered in as he tried to tug his eyes open.  Cool water splattered across his forehead.  A throbbing pounded just behind his ears.

Lovino grunted and tried to sit up.  A face slowly rearranged itself until he could see clear features—green eyes and thick eyebrows.  A hand pushed him back down.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.  You’re hurt.”

“Hurt?”  His tongue dealt with the word clumsily.  He blinked slowly and put a hand to his head.  It came away wet and sticky.  “S-shit—wha’ ‘appened?”

“They must have hit your head a few more times than necessary,” the man said.  “You should be grateful that someone like me took pity on you.  It’s Arthur, by the way.”

“Lovino,” the thief choked.  He managed to sit up again without Arthur correcting him, then started investigating the bruises mottling his arms and chest.  He winced and wiped a fist across his nose.  Also bleeding.  “D-damn.”

He vaguely remembered the flats of swords slapping against his flesh, and the crack of boots into his ribs.  The shouts and sneers.  Spit shot from snarling mouths.  A whip that ripped lines across his back.

And all at once, every searing inch of pain returned until he cried out and nearly blacked out again, tasting bile.  “Fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck_ —“

“I said don’t strain yourself,” Arthur insisted.  “Here.”  He handed him a flask.

When Lovino drank, he found that it burned his throat.  Something hard.  He guzzled it as fast as he could, til Arthur snatched it away.

“Easy on the whiskey,” he said, shaking his head, “That stuff is hard to come by here.”  He muttered something like, “That damn Alfred better smuggle me some when he visits.”

Lovino hacked something up, then wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Oh god, I feel like I was hit by a fucking airship.”

“Unfortunately, it’s only the beginning,” Arthur said.  He sighed a bit, “I heard you gave him a piece of your mind.  Some of the soldiers are still talking about it.  Shame it doesn’t lighten the punishment.  Damned fool that you are.  The best you can do is play along.  You don’t have the luxury to say no, so either do so as a prisoner or do so as a guest.  The choice should have been obvious.”

“I’ve got someone coming after me,” Lovino wheezed.

“You’ve condemned him to his death if he sets foot anywhere near here,” Arthur warned.

Lovino shook his head.  “No, he’s smarter and stronger and just…just better than that.”  He sniffled a little bit.  “O-oi.  If you’re so determined to be on my side or whatever…I want to see my brother.”

“It’s probably a bad idea,” Arthur said, “In fact, it’s probably the worse idea I’ve heard all day.”

“You better just fucking—“ Lovino groaned and curled in on himself, spasming from pain.  “ _Shit_.” 

“Unfortunately, your own body says no at this point, so I don’t even have to,” Arthur said.  “Get some rest.  Maybe once you’ve healed we can talk.  As for me, I’ve got work to do and just needed to meter your abilities.”

“Meter…?”

Arthur nodded as he pulled out a little device that looked much like a diode with a spring coiled inside.  “My job around here is to look into ways to amplify yours and your brother’s powers.  I’ve made headway on Feliciano, but I am assuming you will have your own set of challenges.”

“Don’t even get that thing near me.”

Arthur just sighed and jabbed it into his shoulder.  Some tiny needle pricked his skin, and blood leeched up the spring.  It pulsed with faint light.

“ _Motherfucking shi—“_   He shoved the offending apparatus away and clutched his arm.  No blood dribbled out, but the veins stood out all the way down his arm.  “S’too much s’all too much…”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur repeated.  He removed a tiny reed and _plinked!_ it into a little vial which he shoved in his pocket.  He handed the flask back, and didn’t even protest when Lovino tried to sap the very last bit out.  Instead, he stared at the diode as the dusty glass faded.  “I’m not sure what to do about you.  Your powers are weak.  They shouldn’t _be_ this weak.”

“Fuck off, this is all _your_ damn fault.”  He hiccupped a bit as he cast the empty flask away.  His head spun, but this time with a thick fuzz.  He clung to the warmth in his core and slept.

He was not conscious for when the soldiers came back for them, or how Arthur stood in front of him and shook his head, eyes glinting steely and mouth curved into a fierce frown.  “You can’t take him.  It would interfere with my work, which the king specifically contracted.  If you beat him again, and his powers might get weaker.  Did you want the king to have your heads for that?”

As the soldiers left, Arthur felt a light touch to his elbow.  A man stood behind him, the eagle perched on his shoulder, nibbling at his ear with a hooked beak.  He yelped a bit and readjusted with a little shake of his head. 

“I call 9 parts bluff, 1 part bullshit, and a total 10 parts you actually caring for the kid beyond a general vested interest.”

Arthur wheeled around.  He would have thrown himself into this man had it not been for the giant bird or the total sacrifice of dignity.  Instead he smoothed his robes and looked unconcerned.  “Personally, I don’t like to see _anyone_ tortured.  Especially not some innocent kid caught up in stuff he can’t possibly control.”

“So you _do_ have a heart!” 

“Alfred F. Jones, I will not have you talk to me this way.  I outrank you, sir.”  Still, there was a twinkle in his eyes just below a haze of fatigue.

“Everyone outranks me, technically,” Alfred said, gesturing to the empty shoulder pads of his leather jacket.  “I haven’t been in service in probably seven years.”

“You never truly leave the king’s service once you’ve entered, you daft fool,” Arthur said. “And you exaggerate.  It’s only been five.”

Alfred shrugged and beckoned the eagle down onto his forearm.  Its talons bit into the leather.  He allowed it to take off, wincing behind a strained smile, then watched as it swooped out the window and upward toward the bird sanctuary. 

“I’m pretty sure that damn bird ate one of the messenger pigeons last week,” Arthur mumbled.  “But I knew he was always your favourite, so I sent him after you.”

“So why exactly was I summoned here?”

“On recommendation from me,” Arthur said.

“So you were lonely—“

Arthur swatted at him.  “Would you let me finish.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.  “We needed a mechanic,” he said, “beyond just me.  My specialty lies in magic and alchemy.  I can fix what is broken but I can’t _design_ things.”

“Just exactly what are we supposed to be designing…?”

“Soldiers.  A mechanical army,” Arthur said.  “Which he, in turn, will bring to life.”

“That’s seriously messed up,” Alfred said, lips pursed, “But cool, I guess.”  He knelt beside Lovino and brushed his hair from his eyes.  “Huh.  I know this guy.”

“What?”

“I met him.  He was with Gilbert—you remember him right?”

“I’ve heard of him…” Arthur said, “Mostly from you, but sure.”

“He’s come a long way.  I helped him escape a bunch of creeps in Rüs…”

“The kid seems to get around then,” Arthur agreed.  He looked to Alfred then, like a fussy mother hen, started to straighten out the lapels of his uniform.  “Take the jacket off, boy.  You have an audience with the king.  I won’t have you going in there looking like some kind of thug.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” Alfred said, though he shrugged it off and draped it over Arthur’s shoulders.  “Something to remember me by for the whole maybe half an hour that I’m gone.”  With a cheeky grin he marched off, Arthur’s angry remarks ringing in his ears.

\--

Ludwig had left within moments of the torture that took place.

In his mind, it was not Lovino shackled to the wall screaming at the bite of the whip, but Feliciano.

Every cry.  Every plea.  Every drop of blood.

Almost twenty-four hours later, his mind was still reeling.  He tore circles through his chamber.  Maybe if he rubbed at his temples hard enough, he could scrub the memory away.  The guilt away.

Finally he rushed down beneath the castle floor toward the dungeons.  Shaking hands fiddled with the keys until he clicked the door open.

Feliciano was sleeping again.  Blindfolded.

“Feliciano—“ Ludwig said, scooping him up in his arms.  He peppered his face with desperate kisses.  “Forgive me.  Please please forgive me…”

Feliciano’s breathing changed.  He shifted and tried to sit up in his arms.  His cheek found Ludwig’s chest.  “What are you talking about?”

“They’ve got your brother.”

Feliciano went rigid and ripped the blindfold from his eyes.  He immediately looked away from Ludwig.  “That’s impossible…”

Ludwig swallowed, “Feliciano, please just look at me.  Please.  I can’t talk to you like this.”

Feliciano shook his head, “You know I can’t.  Especially when I’m angry.  Which I am.”

“I can withstand it.  I don’t mind headaches,” Ludwig insisted.  He sighed when Feliciano just shook his head.

“If you’re going to confess, just confess,” Feliciano said.  “Unless you’re begging for forgiveness on the behalf of the king.”  He huffed to himself.  “Then once you’ve done that, you’ll take me to my brother.”

Ludwig stared to the wall the opposite direction.  “Feliciano.  I brought it about.  I arranged the ambush.”

“What part of you thought that I would be okay with that?”

“I—you don’t understand, Feliciano—it was you or _him_.  I’m just trying to earn your freedom—so we can start a life somewhere—he threatens your _life_ , I had to do _something._ “

“And yet here I am, not free.  It would take a fool to fall for something like that—“  Feliciano struggled to keep a bite in his voice, but pent up anxiety sent him to his feet and to the door.  He glanced back at Ludwig, everything about him suffering.  “ _Take me to him.”_

Ludwig hung his head but nodded, “Fine, but I’m afraid you won’t like what you see.”

“I need to make sure he’s alright.”

They walked in stony silence.

They found Lovino in Arthur’s chambers, half conscious in his bed, bleeding into his sheets.  Alfred sat on the edge, chatting up Arthur as if everything was usual.

“So, yeah, I guess you and me are gonna be working pretty close togeth—“  His mouth hung open as Ludwig entered, but immediately shifted into a guarded smile.  His fingers tightened around the edge of the mattress.  “Oh, look what we have here.  A soldier.”

Ludwig waved him off, “Not on duty.”  He urged Feliciano inside, hands ghosting at his back but not daring to touch.  Feeling awkward and guilty, he shoved them in his pockets, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place he felt.

Feliciano climbed into the bed with his brother and lifted the blanket.  “This is bad,” he breathed.  “How could you let them _do_ this to him?”

Ludwig rubbed at his temples.  “It was you or him.  I ache inside for having to do something like this, but at the same time, I stand by my choice.”

“Oh, so the soldier has feelings,” Alfred scoffed.

Arthur nudged him, “You’re technically a soldier too.”

He waved his hand.  “Whatever.”

Feliciano seized the damp rag from a bucket of water and herbs that Arthur had prepared earlier.  He dabbed at the cuts along his brother’s forehead, frowning a little when he winced.  “Ludwig, you don’t understand.  Everything I’ve done of importance in this life was to _protect_ him.  To throw them off his trail.  I let them _shoot me in the chest_ so he could escape—and you—you just… _hand him over._ ”  He dug the heel of his hands into his eyes to fight tears.  “Next time…next time… _communicate_ with me.  I have a say what happens to me and I can stand up for myself.  Don’t act like it’s your sole duty to protect me.  I can protect me too, trust me.”

“Understood,” Ludwig said.

Feliciano put a quiet hand on Ludwig’s wrist, but kept his eyes carefully averted.  “I left my blindfold in the other room…”

“You can keep your eyes closed, if you need to,” Ludwig said.

“For now,” Feliciano agreed, eyes sliding shut.  He continued dabbing.

Lovino’s lips cracked open at the sensation of droplets running down his face.  He smacked them, desperate for hydration.  Immediately, Arthur was there, helping him sit up and tilting a basin of water to his mouth. 

Lovino shifted.  “Wha…?”

“Lovino,” Feliciano said.  Without thinking, his eyes shot open again, meeting his brother’s, who flinched and brought a hand to his forehead.

“Shoot—“  Feliciano jerked his head in the other direction.  “Sorry.”

“So you’re Feliciano…?” Lovino asked.  He did not question his brother’s strange behavior.  “And therefore…you’re the Destroyer.  And not me.”

“You don’t remember much,” Feliciano said.  It wasn’t a question.  “Yet you still know my name?”

“Is that a surprise?” Lovino asked.  “Am I not supposed to know who you are?”

Slowly, Feliciano shook his head.  “No.  You’re not.  Because I knew if you remembered me, you’d go looking for me and find trouble.  Apparently I didn’t really prevent _that_ either.”

Ludwig winced at words he knew were directed at him.  But anger he could take over quiet pain.

“Good at finding trouble,” Lovino managed, “You—you wiped my memory.  Didn’t you—“

Feliciano gnawed the inside of his cheek.  “I broke it,” he said quietly, “it’s kind of what I do.  Break things.  Destroy them.  Sometimes things I don’t want to.  Actually most of the time things I don’t want to.  But I guess you Fix things.  So the damage is unraveling.”

Lovino groaned a little bit.  Slowly his vision focused and he wasn’t staring at the apparition of two Felicianos.  His brain churned with frustration, trying to process all this new information while shoving the throbbing in his body into a corner so he could just _think_ for a second.  “You—you…” 

Something snapped.

“You _asshole_.”  He seized Feliciano by both shoulders, eyes desperate and angry and pleading all at once.  “You can’t just—the hell kind of excuse is something like that?  All my fucking life I thought I was just some kind of scum on the street, not knowing where I even come from.  How fucking _dare_ you shove me out of harm’s way like we’re not even _brothers_ anymore—a-and just expect me to be alright knowing that you fucking suffered in my place--?!”

“It was all I could do—“ Feliciano said, “I literally had half a minute to make that decision.  You’re my _brother_ , don’t you _dare_ tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing in my place!  Don’t you dare!”  He hadn’t realized he was shouting until he saw the others cringing.  He took a few breaths to control his seething aura, his powers rolling off him in waves.

“We could have escaped together—“ Lovino shot back, “Or _something._ We would have figured something out—killed them, I don’t fucking know!”

“You don’t even remember what happened,” Feliciano answered.  “So don’t talk like you can say anything either way.”

“I remember _enough,”_ Lovino muttered.  “I remember that you could have _died_.  They shot you in the chest.  I remember _that.”_

“I did what I had to do,” Feliciano said after a lengthy pause.  He pried Lovino’s fingers from his arms, where his nails had sunk into his skin.  “Please don’t hate me for something like that.  I didn’t stab you in the back like you seem to think I did.”

Lovino’s breathing leveled out.  The initial burst of anger gone, he felt weak.  He sagged into Feliciano’s arms and sobbed against his chest, scraped completely raw.  “You’re still an asshole.  You got it all fucking wrong the older is supposed to protect the younger.”

Feliciano rubbed at his back and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “You did.  You saved my life.  As I was breaking you.  I was lying bleeding out.  You…repaired just enough damage that I survived.”

Lovino sniffled a little more.  “F-fine, then tell me how we’re supposed to get _out_ of this mess.  Let’s just get the fuck out of here…”

“Good luck with that,” Arthur said.

Alfred punched him in the shoulder, “Hey, let them have their moment—“

Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers with a long sigh. 

Feliciano just held his brother, humming quietly to himself.  “I don’t know how,” he finally said, “Sometimes the good guys don’t get a happy ending.”

“Bullshit.”  Lovino’s voice was muffled.

“Just promise you don’t do anything too reckless,” Alfred said.  “At least not without me.”

Ludwig nodded, “Getting yourself killed in the process will not help.”

“Yeah, you gotta be smart about it,” Alfred agreed.  “But damn if I’m not on your side.  I mean, even if it’s to stick my neck on the line to keep those asses from beating the shit out of you.”

Feeling awkward, Arthur had retreated into his corner to tinker on the diode.  He recorded the reading, shook it, then furrowed his brow as he read again.  “Just be careful.”  He shook it again then took a pair of pliers to some wires beneath a little panel. 

“That thing insult your dear old mum or something?” Alfred teased.

“No, it’s just…I’m not getting a very strong reading on Lovino’s powers.  There’s hardly anything here to amplify.”

“That…might also be my fault,” Feliciano murmured.

\--

Berwald steered the ship clear into the night and, though it was dark and damp, the crew seemed to be in high spirits.  Almost tirelessly, Tino and Emil dashed across the deck to adjust sails, heaving at ropes, configuring complicated knots, lashing items down.  Gilbert helped where he could, but he was not an experienced flier, so he ended up stirring at a pot of thickening grits that Tino set up for him.

Once they’d caught a stable wind, the trio ate quickly despite burning tongues and lack of seasoning.  Tino brought Berwald a bowl then sat staring up at a few speckles of stars that studded the sky.  Emil and Gilbert sat just outside the Bridge, leaned against the wall next to the opened door.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen stars,” Tino said.

 “They’re not that impressive,” Emil said.  “There’s what?  Five of them?  Big deal.”

“They kind of are impressive, though, by definition,” Tino answered, “Just think.  What even _are_ they.  They’re really far away so they must be _huge_ and they shine and twinkle—how is that not impressive.”

Emil scoffed, “If you believe the Scientists, then sure.”

“I think they’re nice.” Berwald said, and that was that, though he watched Tino when he spoke. 

Emil turned away and set his bowl down, miming a choking motion.  “God, gag me with a _spoon.”_

“Are you upset because we’re going to see Lukas?” Tino asked.

Emil tensed.  “Hell no.  And I’ll tell you _right now_ , that I’m staying on the ship.”

“Suit yourself,” Berwald said.  “We’ll relay a message for you.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Emil said, “Then give him the finger.”

Berwald handed the wheel off to Tino, then walked outside.  He clapped a hand on Emil’s shoulder and stared him down.  The other cringed backward.  “It’s okay to hurt,” Berwald said.  He wandered out past them to quell the fire then climbed up the mast to scan the horizon through a telescope. 

He signaled to Tino.  “I see Volare up ahead.  Head East and downward.  Aim for the high Plateau.”

The nose of the ship dipped down and sails, pulling taut as they met air resistance, helped to slow their descent.  Tino directed the ship to the edge of one of the plateaus, much like as if he’d docked his ship at a shoreline, then tossed over a heavy coil of rope.  Without being asked, Emil hopped over the side and looped an elaborate knot over a pillar of a rock.  After an experimental tug at the end he nodded, satisfied enough, then climbed back aboard.  Tino and Berwald secured the sails so that the wind would not catch and pull their boat away from the cliff face. 

Once they’d finished, Emil retreated to the Bridge, sulking quietly in the dark.  He called out at the others, “Just hurry it up.  Don’t spend all night there.”

Tino settled himself on the floor next to Emil with a sad little grimace.  “I’ll wait with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Emil muttered.

“We’re a family,” Tino insisted, “All five of us.  Maybe that mostly means that I get to tease you, but it also means that I don’t leave you alone to cry in the dark.”

Emil groaned, “Fine.  Just don’t try to hug me or something.”

Gilbert, once on the ground, peered over the edge of the cliff to find a sheer drop that vanished somewhere in the darkness.  A shudder seized him and he stumbled backwards toward solid ground.  “Damn.”

“It’s high up,” Berwald said.  He pointed to the hazy masses of rock in the sky.  “Not as high as that.”

“You’re telling me…so…this isn’t Volare.  Where _are_ we.”

“Plateaus,” Berwald said as he pressed on, following the edge. 

In the distance, on a mile stretch of flat, grassy land, Gilbert could make out the shape of a village huddled in a forest of bamboo and spindly trees.  “That’s a town…” he said, pointing, “I heard something about finding your friend Lukas?”

Berwald nodded, “He can sneak into Volare.”  He pointed ahead of them, “He lives off the face of this cliff.”

“Oh god,” Gilbert muttered.  He could only imagine what that implied.

As they walked, they came upon a series of docks extending out into thin air, secured by ropes and triangular wooden structures bolted to the cliff face.  Attached to these, roped over to rocks studding the edge or the wood of the dock—and sometimes anchored _together_ —at least fifty little boats bobbed and swayed out over thin air.  Lines of laundry or just triangular colourful flags swooped between the little houses built neatly onto the decks. 

“Nope, I am _not_ walking out there—“

Berwald merely nudged him up onto a dock.  “You’re fine.”

Gilbert took a few tentative steps, arms outstretched.  Berwald walked normally.  The first boat dipped to the side under his weight with a groan.  Gilbert followed, shaking.  They crossed that deck and climbed onto a second, painted a quiet blue, little shutters mimicking a real house, pulled shut over windows.  A little lantern hung from the doorframe. 

“This is where Lukas lives now,” Berwald said.

“A-a house on a boat?”

“A sky pirate prefers the sky,” Berwald said, as if reciting some maxim.  He shrugged a little bit and settled back into silence as he carefully unlatched the door and stepped in.

A large ship Gilbert could deal with.  Huge decks didn’t creak and jolt with every step, like it was going to capsize with any wrong movement.  Still, he followed, feeling a little better once he’d entered the little house and could pretend like he wasn’t on a floating hunk of wood over a massive drop.

The door into a back room opened.  First came the glint of a dagger, then the light of recognition in bleary eyes as the man dropped his hand to his side.  “Berwald.  Run out of messenger birds?”  He twisted a little switch in a lantern to build the flame, and set it in the middle of a roughly formed table. 


	11. Going Out with a Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well shit, Gilbert, what are you going to do now?? Also I live for USUK banter.
> 
> Already in the brainstorming stages for a Nordic5 steamtalia spin-off prequel of the events leading up to this fic. Bad things happen to Mats.
> 
> For those who aren't sure (should have put these in the prev chapter tbh)  
> Lukas=Norway  
> Berwald=Sweden  
> Mathias=Denmark  
> Emil=Iceland  
> Tino=Finland  
> Marcello=Seborga (not really stated anywhere, but his new 'family' is comprised of other micronations/principalities. just a sidenote)
> 
> Update next Wed!

“Thought I’d visit,” Berwald said. 

“Did you…did you bring the others?”

Berwald shook his head.  “They send their regards.  Emil misses you.”

Lukas gestured to a seat.  His eyes flickered to Gilbert, but he said nothing.  Gilbert remained standing as Berwald sank into the chair with a sigh.  They were congregated in a single room that doubled as a kitchen, with a little wood stove set into tiled floor, and dining room.  There wasn’t much decoration, save for a few trinkets sitting on the window sill.

The man himself, Lukas, looked weary and frail, with pale paper-thin skin and hair, short and blond, like straw.  Dark circles cut deep under lackluster blue eyes.  He’d wrapped himself in a robe, probably sitting up into the night; the remnants of a cooling cup of coffee sat on the countertop.

“You need to get more sleep,” Berwald said.

“I _need_ a lot of things,” Lukas said.  He realized his tone was sharp, then retreated into himself as he took a sip of his coffee.  Rubbing at his eyes, he yawned.  “This visit is not without purpose.”

Berwald nodded with a little grunt, then gestured at Gilbert.

With a start, Gilbert realized that Lukas was staring at him.  He launched into a quick, jumbled explanation.  “I need to get into Volare, and I was told that you managed to sneak in a whole crew of men a few years back.  I’m not looking for accompaniment, just help.  I fully intend on going at it alone—“

Lukas tilted his head back, eyes closed.  He breathed out slowly.  “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not worth the risk.”

Gilbert opened his mouth.  “It’s worth my life—“

“That’s what Mathias said.  There are things worse than death,” Lukas said. He shot a look at Berwald, “Do we have to reopen old wounds?”

“S’Wounds never closed,” Berwald said quietly. 

Resigned, Lukas dropped his head into his hands and massaged deeply.  “I suppose I don’t really care if you fail or not.  I’ll let you in on the secret, but you’re completely on your own.”

He disappeared into the back room and returned with a bundle, which he set on the table.  He waved at it like ‘have at it’ and took the seat opposite of Berwald.  “How’s the ship?”

“Still flies,” Berwald answered. “How’s Mathias?”

Lukas frowned, “No improvement.”

Gilbert carefully unwrapped what appeared to be a set of sturdy tubes welded together, thinner segments radiating from the inside of an obvious elbow-like joint.  “The hell?”  He flexed and extended the metal, completely fascinated by how fluid and flexible the structure was.

“Attach the cloth,” Lukas said, “It binds to your arms.  S’wings.”

Gilbert stared at the jumbled pile of parts, mouth falling open.  “You want me to _make like a bird_ and just _fly_ into the Tiered City?”

“They only guard the front gate.  The wings work,” Lukas said. 

“ _How?_ ”

“I am an alchemist and a scientist,” Lukas said, “I made them work.”

The two continued talking as Gilbert tried reassembling the wings, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth.  He worked much like a toddler trying to piece through a giant puzzle.

“Your last letter,” Berwald started, “Y’said somethin’ ‘bout healing.”

Lukas stared at his shuttered window.  “Another useless skill.”

Berwald gave a noncommittal grunt.  “Should visit Tino and Emil.  I can watch Mathias.”

Gilbert, who had finished lacing up one wing and was starting the other, lifted his head, “Are you referring to Mathias Kohler?”

Lukas’s expression turned icy cold.  “What’s it to you.”

“I-I knew him from my training days,” Gilbert said, climbing to his feet.  “He was a mercenary—I, did something _happen_ to him.”

Berwald put a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder and shook his head, as Lukas stood and grabbed what remained of his coffee.

“S’none of your business.”  He retreated into the back room.  The door fell shut automatically behind him.

“I—“

“Collect the wings,” Berwald said.  “Go to Volare.  Will be here when you get back.”  He pointed to the exit then went after Lukas. 

After finishing up the wings, Gilbert slinked out the front door.  He stared upward.  “I have to fly all the way up _there_.  Goddamn…couldn’t just…fly the boat halfway—“  He groaned and strapped them onto his arms and tested them out.  They felt light and moved as naturally as he did. 

He crawled his way onto solid ground.  If these failed to support his weight, he wasn’t about to test them off a cliff face.

“Do I…do a running start or…?”  He stared at them, feeling ridiculous and anxious and out of his element.  He bit his lip and pumped his arms up and down a few times, trying to convince himself he wasn’t actually _flapping_ them like some kind of flightless chicken.

He felt the pumps inside activate and _something_ hiss through the hollow tubes.  He flapped harder and started to run, until he could feel pressure build beneath.

His heart skipped a beat.  With a sensation much like one missing a step, he felt as if he was running in air, until he realized that his last footfall had barely grazed the grass.  Arms already aching, he pumped harder.

He worked toward gaining height then found, as he climbed higher, that a gust of wind helped stabilize him.  Encouraged, he evened out his body so that he was positioned with his stomach down, finding that as he worked at it, the wings seemed to store and even amplify the power from his movements. 

A scream ripped from his throat. Was this the odd freedom that Alfred or Matthew felt hurling through the sky?  The idea that not even gravity could contain him?

He breathed in deeply from his nose and whooped again, climbing higher with a few strokes, and praying a gust wouldn’t smack him into the ground.  With increased altitude came a bone-chilling numbness and heaviness of his limbs, and he cried out in victory when he came upon the Grounded Tier, which was only the highest of the Plateaus.  Still, he swooped down to land, pressing circles into his shoulders as he cried out in pain.  Just as Lukas had said, there was no one guarding the periphery—just the front gate.

“How in the _hell_ am I supposed to make it to the Third Tier like this?!”

He dove into the bushes, then crouched there, listening to people go about their morning routines, up before the sunrise to tend to vineyards tangled between meandering stone walls. 

So this was Volare.

The bushes rustled and shook as he crawled beneath them, hidden yet obvious.  No one bothered him; maybe they assumed it was some wild animal rummaging around.  On his hands and knees, dirty and aching, with the wings catching on twigs, he picked his way toward where little houses gently marked the transition between vineyard and the city limits, porches with little stone railings spilling out vines and pastel flowers.

He figured they didn’t get visitors much; closed gates did not encourage much travel.  Would he need documentation or special papers to prove he belonged here, or would he have to exude confidence so no one would think to question his presence?

Crawling around in the bushes would not achieve this.  He poked his head out, waited, then—wrestling with his wings to free his arms—rolled out, leaving his wings safely hidden.  He noted the location and started to walk.

He wandered what looked like a countryside community, with trailing low walls and fountains gurgling in courtyards while cats skittered around.  A few kids paused a game to watch him pass.  They wore simple cotton smocks and kerchiefs for their heads. 

He nodded vaguely in their direction and continued on.  A little girl stared and scurried into her house.

Bemused, Gilbert realized that most of these houses were left open to air out during the day.  Did they not experience foul weather?

He gnawed on his lip.  He needed to figure something out.  Every minute he wasted was another minute that they could be torturing Lovino.  With a pang of guilt, he remembered the plans that he and Lovino had made—to explore the Restricted City together.

The pain only made him trudge faster.  He didn’t have a plan so much as a vague idea of what he should do.  He knew that the city operated completely on internal trade from Tier to Tier.  He knew hijacking one of the taxis would end in his death, but if he could smuggle himself at least to the second Tier, then he could cheat and use its final stop as a leg up, then slip through the gated wall on the back end on the Third.

Or, he paused, spinning around on the ball of his foot, taking off back toward the bushes to retrieve his wings.  He could board a ship to the Fourth, guessing that the security was significantly more lax there, and swoop _downwards_ and eliminate most if not all the strain on his arms. 

He found the wings again and tied them onto a bundle on his back, and began to walk toward the center of the city, passing little parks and market squares where men sold wares in open tents.  He stopped at one stall, hyper aware of the stares that the man gave him, grip tightening on his young daughter’s arm.

“You aren’t from here,” the man said.  He cast a wary eye from Gilbert to the strings of gold jewelry on his own table. 

 _No shit_ , Gilbert wanted to say, irritation and desperation mixing on his face.  “I’m from the Second Tier,” he lied. 

The man scoffed, “Maybe the Fourth.”

Gilbert opened his mouth but clamped it shut.  “Fine, you got me.”

The man nodded like there was no question.  “Then you’d best hop on that taxi down to the Mid Plateau where you belong.  They’ve been letting ‘em off here lately and it’s downright unsanitary, even if they _are_ contained. _”_

Gilbert grit his teeth, crossing his arms.  He kept his tone as level as possible.  “Actually, I’m heading up. And I’m new.”

“Great, recruitment.”  He frowned but let his daughter tug free to scamper around with a few friends.  “Because my hard earned money definitely needs to go toward lazy assholes…”

“Just point me to the air taxi,” Gilbert muttered.  “The one that goes _up_.”

The man merely pointed and turned away, done with this conversation.

Gilbert took the rest of the distance at a jog, slipping into line with a ragtag group of men in tattered grey clothes, oxygen masks draped around their shoulders.  He grabbed a newsboy cap from the back pocket of the man in front of him and jammed it on his head. 

Silently, they filed into the taxi, taking seats on two rows of wooden benches.  Air whooshed as the balloon above them gradually re-inflated.  The crafted lifted. 

Gilbert looked around, his own heart racing.  He saw that most of these men stared down at their hands, eyes glossy, lines etching exhaustion deep in dirty faces.  One shifted.  Gil caught sight up purple veins bulging along his wrist and blue-tinged finger tips.  A shudder ran up his body, but he said nothing.  The man noticed he was watching and stuffed those fingers into his armpits, shivering though it was not cold.   

“Is it really that bad?” He finally asked.

Several looked up at him, blinking dully. 

“Puts food on the table,” one answered. 

“I’m, uh, new,” Gilbert explained. 

A few more shook their heads sadly.

“Should have joined the army,” the same man said, “Man like you could have made physicals.”

Gilbert frowned, “It wasn’t an option.”

“Seems to be a shortage of those.  Options, I mean,” The man said.

Gilbert groaned a little bit.  The man beside him finally lifted his head to give him a sideways glance.

“You,” he said.

Gilbert pointed back at himself, “Yeah?”

“You don’t have equipment,” he said, watching him.  “No oxygen mask.  Just how do you expect to do manual labor on the Fourth Tier?  Air is thin.”

“Yeah, I was hoping to—“

The other shushed him.  With a start, Gilbert realized that this man was significantly younger than him, still bright eyed but weighed down with slight fatigue. 

“You have no commission to be here,” the other said, quietly.  “Government gives us the masks to work.”  He waved his hand, not terribly concerned.  “Unless you _steal_ one from someone, you aren’t going to find one just lying around.”  He leaned forward, intensely fervent, “Are you a spy?”

“W-what?”  He leaned back, uncomfortable with the other in his face.  “No I just—I need the work is all.  Maybe I’m bending a few rules.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” the man said.  “Who would I even tell that would listen?”

Gilbert’s brow furrowed.  He scoffed a little to the side but peered closer into this man’s face.  “What’s your name?  You look really familiar.”  There was _something_ about the shape of his nose and the point of his chin. 

“Marcello,” he answered.  He brightened.  “Does this mean you’re going to admit the truth now?”

“I—I’m not a spy,” Gilbert insisted.  The craft bumped against the dock.  “I’m just—I just have something I need to do, and it involves the Fourth Tier.  Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to be nosy?”

“I’m sure they would have if they could,” Marcello said with a shrug, “But I’m a grown man, and I taught myself anything that I need to know.”

The men around them started to secure their masks around their face with little clips and straps.  The masks were leather domes that fit over the entire face, eyes cut out as goggles and a hose running from the area over the nose and mouth into little tanks strapped to each man’s waist.  It amplified each breath into a solid, almost strained rush of air.  They departed the tram. 

“Good luck breathing, then,” Marcello said as he rose to his feet, also fastening his own mask on.  “ _Thought_ about helping you out, but I mean, partnership is built on trust and you _obviously_ don’t trust me enough to spill.”  His voice sounded metallic, muffled.  He puffed a few heavy breaths.

“Hey, wait a sec—“ Gilbert followed after him.

Stepping foot onto the Fourth Tier was a lot like being punched in the gut.  Instantly his lungs seized and he wheezed for precious oxygen.  “Shit—“ he gasped.

Marcello snickered but threw a mask at his head.  “I stole this the other day.”

Gilbert managed to catch it and wrestle it onto his face.  “You just said that—“

“Look,” Marcello said, “I’m not supposed to be here either, but I figured out where they kept the masks and took a few for myself.  I have to support my family.  I don’t qualify by their stupid standards for this work, but I don’t have much of a choice.  So I made my own option.”  He shrugged a little bit.  Gilbert could only _feel_ the cheeky little grin behind his mask.  “So, fess up.”

Gilbert silently vowed to never take oxygen for granted again as his airway reopened.  Slightly light headed, he stumbled forward.  “Okay, but it has nothing to do with the Fourth Tier.”

“Oh,” Marcello said.  Disappointment dripped from his slackened posture.  “That’s probably good, though.  You don’t seem to know much of anything about this place.  Really sucky spy, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Gilbert muttered.  He could feel the warmth of his own breath fog the inside of the tube.  His face felt heavy.  “I’m going skydiving.”

Marcello perked up, “Really?”

Gilbert nodded.  “It’s kind of a weird…thing.  That frankly had better _work._  I’m going to find an opportune place to jump then swoop down to the Third Tier—“

“Trying to assassinate the king?”

Gilbert shuddered, “Hell no.  Just free an innocent man.  Look, I know it’s crazy to try to topple his fucked up empire.  I’m not touching that shit—“

Marcello nodded with a little shrug, “Probably for the best.  But if you were, I’d totally be down with it.  I think secretly everyone would, they just don’t want to say anything because who the heck knows where the spies are.”

“You have a very active imagination,” Gilbert said.  He started to walk, staring down through the railing to find the best point to jump.  His walk took him through bushes and over pipelines.  Marcello followed.

“I have a new family now, but it’s because of the king that my old one is gone.”  He shrugged a little bit.  “But you gotta take these losses in stride.  Nothing _is_ forever, so I’m making the most of things.  Appreciating my new family as much as I can while we’re all still together.”

Gilbert only grunted.  He double checked the location, seeing that the edge of the Fourth Tier just barely hovered 100 feet over one edge of the Third.  “This is where I’m going to jump,” he said. 

Marcello joined him to peer downward.  “Um, hate to break it to you, but you can’t survive a drop that big…”

Without a word, Gilbert pulled the wings from his back and started to unwrap them.  He attached them carefully.

“Ooooooh,” Marcello exclaimed.  “Do they work??”

“I sure as hell _hope_ so, or else my damn ghost is going to haunt the mysterious asshole who handed these over.”

“That sounds like fun,” Marcello said.  His hands wrapped around the bars of the gate, “So this is goodbye, then?”

“We only just met,” Gilbert said, “Don’t act like this is some kind of heartfelt goodbye.”

“Sorry,” Marcello said, “I just—“  He paused, “Hey, if you ever need backup, just give me a holler.  I, uh, yeah, I gotta get started on work.  It’s a long day.”

Gilbert nodded, “Uh, sure.”  The space between the bars of the gate was tiny, but, grunting and huffing, he managed to squeeze through until he was perilously balanced on a ledge that gave way to thin air.  He took a deep breath, ripped his mask away and threw it back over the fence, then let himself drop.

Any fear of heights was stripped away at a sudden rush of cold air that choked his scream away.  Exhilaration took over.  He plummeted straight down then, last minute, fought the wind resistance to straighten his wings.  His shoulders ached as the air plucked him upward. 

He took a few deep breaths; the air was still thin, but breathable.  He circled a little, squinting.  The palace walls glinted gold back at him with the rising sun.  The sky had brightened into a calm blue.  Little wisps of clouds drifted.

“There,” he muttered, seeing a patch of bushes overgrown along the fence area.  It was toward the back of the palace, where there would be less guards to see his descent.  He swooped in that direction.

A torrential gush of water dropped down out of nowhere.  Gilbert changed directions, barely missing the downpour of water draining from the pipes of the Fourth Tier down into the basin of the Third.  He shivered.  Something like that would have smacked him right from the air.  He looked up then back down.

Hopefully there would be no surprises.  He dove a little lower, careful to test the wind, adjusting his arms and elbows as needed, biting against the strain of holding himself up.  He was able to land feet first on the ledge of the Third Tier just as a huge gust of wind tried to tear him away from the ground.  He latched on to the fence.

The wind slackened.  He squeezed through the fence, panting, too eager to rip the wings from his body. Then, after massaging the length of arms that wanted to hang limply at his sides, he crawled through the bushes into the back of the courtyard.  There was no sign of guards here.  Maybe the king had become complacent sitting on this little island all alone.  He thought back to Marcello’s words.  How easy _would_ it be to just assassinate the king and be done with everything?  He shook his head.  That was the kind of hubris that would wind up getting Lovino or himself killed.  He just needed to get in and out with Lovino.

\--

They worked in a ballroom, scattered out among robotics parts, gears, and glowing diodes.  For a while, Arthur used alchemy to weld different plates together while Alfred tried to fit them together according to a schematic.  Several times he paused to sputter through thick coffee that his little percolator system churned out.  No one accepted the offer for the steaming, bitter liquid.

“I may be a tinkerer, but this really isn’t my forte,” he finally complained.  “I really don’t understand what these little pipes are supposed to be doing…”

Arthur shrugged, “Hell if I know, just follow the schematic.  I can only help you so much—My mechanical prowess comes from alchemy and fixing what I can see is broken.  Not creating things out of the blue.”

“Then alchemize me a new brain,” Alfred muttered.  “Because my current one is starting to hurt.”

“Can’t create something out of nothing,” Arthur retorted.

Feliciano sat back to back with Lovino, both sort of watching, bemused and a little nervous.  Ludwig was off on duty, a mission in the Second Tier, which he was glad for, as he told Feliciano, because it was best if he didn’t know what the group was planning.  Feliciano knew this talk of dissent made him uncomfortable, even if it was just Lovino’s escape.  He knew that disobeying sworn loyalty went against something very fundamental within the soldier.  But he also knew there was no victory without sacrifice, even if that victory was just living another day and hoping for freedom. 

Lovino’s thoughts were solely on Gilbert, so much that when his cuts and bruises throbbed, he could retreat to old memories of their adventures.  He knew the minute that he saw him again, none of the pain would matter.  He longed to hide in his arms.

Arthur finished with a little dome he’d riveted together both with a few odd bolts and alchemy.  He brought it to Lovino, along with the diode, which he hooked to the device with some twisted wires wrapped in sheets of elastic cloth. 

“Okay,” he said, “We’re going to try this…”

Lovino stared at it, “And what is this supposed to do again…?”

“Your powers are weak,” Arthur explained, “And I’ve been charged with amplifying them.  I figured out how to do so for your brother—though his are plenty strong—so I adjusted the design toward more of your signature.”

Lovino only sighed but held out his hands to take the machine.  “Okay, so what am I supposed to do…?”

“Use your powers,” Arthur said.  “The diode will measure the strength of them after the dome has supposedly—hopefully—amplified them.  We can’t expect for you to power an entire human sized robot with where they are now.”

“Seems like a lot of work,” Lovino groaned.  “Like fuck it.  We’re not addressing the _actual_ problem here like how to _fix_ my damn defective powers.”

“That’s beyond the scope of my ability,” Arthur said.  “Talk to the one who _broke_ them in the first place.”  His gaze fell on Feliciano.

Feliciano frowned at him. “I can’t fix what I ruin,” he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.  He reached behind him to take Lovino’s hand in his.  “So if you’d stop wasting your time reminding me that I broke my brother, you’d get more of your own task done.”

Arthur kept his mouth shut but gestured back to Lovino.  “Have at it.”

Lovino squeezed Feliciano’s hand but released it to place it on the dome.  He grunted as he sent a surge of power through it.  The effort left him drained.

The dome only warmed up a little, some of the parts shifting.  The diode lit up only slightly brighter than before.

Arthur sighed and removed the object from Lovino’s hands.  “Some progress, but not quite enough.”

“I can power little things,” Lovino said, “And sometimes my powers are stronger than others.  So…hell if I know about this shit.  I don’t really _want_ to make these damn robots for the king anyway.  He’s just going to use them to be a dickwad.”

“Then you better hope your little boyfriend comes fast,” Arthur muttered.  He channeled his frustration into reworking the inner panel of his dome, retreating back to his side of the hall. 

By then, Alfred had completed the upper half of one of the robots, but sat scratching his head as he read through the next few pages of the little packet of papers.  “This really is some complicated stuff…”

“The king likes to brag about how great of an engineer he is,” Feliciano said, “Back before he knew that he could use me to control Ludwig, I used to be what he called an adopted son.”  He shivered a little bit, shaking his head.  “Pretty rich coming from the guy who killed my actual father.  I didn’t have much of a choice but to allow him to.  But he’d go on and on about everything that he’d done for this city.  He claims he’s the reason that they float, but I don’t know how much of that I want to believe.”

Alfred shrugged, “According to the texts, these islands have been floating for at least a hundred years.  I call bullshit on that one.”

Feliciano laughed a little bit, “I know people can do some pretty amazing things, but yeah, I doubted it too.”

Lovino groaned and flopped over flat on his back to stare at the ceiling.  It was vaulted, arches gleaming gold in the rich sunlight that streak in from high windows.  He closed his eyes with a long sigh.

They snapped open.

He’d heard a metallic chirp.

He had to squint, but he could make out a little shape hovering outside one of the windows, peering in.  It landed and tapped its beak against the glass then, scrabbling against the incline, slipped down.

Lovino sat up.  Was that…Gilbird?

“I…uh…need to take a shit,” he announced, rising to his feet.

“Congratulations,” Arthur muttered.

Lovino glanced at the guards leaned against the posts on either side of several sets of doors.  “Do I just uh…?”  His cheeks went red.

Feliciano also rose to his feet.  “Don’t be so uptight.  You don’t need to ask permission.”  He took his arm and started to walk him out past the guards. 

Lovino stared up at them as they passed, paranoid that they’d snatch him up and punish him.  He had not recovered from the first and only torture session, though the pain came and went now.  He still limped.

“They don’t care,” Feliciano reassured him as they made it out into a dim hallway.  “Really, where would you even go?  Jump off the side of this island to your death?  Even if you tried to _hide_ they’d round you up eventually.  So we have free run of the place most of the time.”

“Then how come you have to sleep in a prison cell?” Lovino asked.

“Because I’m dangerous,” Feliciano said, “And they’re afraid of me, like I’ll sneak into their barracks and stare into their face or something.  I don’t know.”  He blinked, confused when Lovino walked right past the waste chamber.  “Hey wait—“  The slap of bare feet echoed after him.

Lovino scoffed, “Should just rip them all up, then.”

Feliciano sighed, “That’s the problem.  Even if…even if I _liked_ being this destructive monster.  Even if I wanted to resort to that…they’d just kill Ludwig.”  He shook his head a little bit.  “Ludwig thinks they’re using me to control him, but it’s really the other way around.” 

Lovino grunted.

“Where are you _going_ anyway?”

“Fresh air,” Lovino answered. 

Feliciano cackled in delight.  “You liar!” 

Lovino promptly shushed him and pulled him down the hall by his elbow.  “Just…just be quiet, okay.”

“You know, we used to sneak around the house when we were little,” Feliciano whispered, keeping pace, “Usually early morning, trying to get at the bread before it was put in the ovens so we could poke at the dough and try to scratch our initials in.”

Lovino’s face sobered, “I don’t remember…”

“Well, I can just tell you all the stories,” Feliciano promised, “We have to have _something_ interesting to talk about, being prisoners together.”  He sighed a little bit, “I wondered if I’d ever see you again, to be honest.  I knew it would be best if never, under the current circumstances, but…I’m so glad that you’re alive and well.”

Lovino put a finger to his lips.  The two slipped through a door in the side, out onto a little balcony supported by marble pillars.  He climbed up over the railing and started to pick his way downward on a fence made from thick vines that had tangled around one of the columns.  The flowers, past their season, had wilted and smelled dank.

Feliciano dropped down to the ground beside him.  “So, this is more than a fresh air adventure, isn’t it.”

Lovino nodded, “I’m…confirming something.”  He glanced around, unsure how to relocate what he had _hoped_ was Gilbird.  It was possible that he was just seeing things out of desperation.

Feliciano shrugged and pulled a bit of bread from his pocket.  He gnawed on it as he waited.

“Shit…well that was pointless,” Lovino said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Feliciano handed off the bread to him and made sure that he took a few bites.  “Well, we can still make a walk of it,” he said.  “Fresh air, remember?”

Something pelted Lovino.  Something hard.  He clapped a hand to the back of his head, cursing softly.  “The fuck…?”  Something similar hit his shoulder.  He turned to see a pebble roll into the grass.  He headed toward the bushes.  “C’mon,” he muttered to Feliciano.

Feliciano checked the windows and the area around to see if they were being watched.  No one.  He followed.

They ducked into the foliage.  Lovino yelped, only to find a hand clamp over his mouth and strong arms pull him tightly against a chest. 

 _Gilbert_.

“F-fuck you, it _took_ you long enough—“ Lovino gasped, curling into the other, grateful for a moment of warmth and safety—however temporary. 

Desperate, Gilbert stroked at his hair, peppering his face with little kisses, his breathing uneven.  “I’m sorry, I was tied up but I came as fast as I could…”

Feliciano took a seat nearby and waited for Gilbert to notice him.

Gilbert paused, “Wait is this…?”

“My brother,” Lovino said. “He’s alive.”

“Alive and kicking,” Feliciano said.

“O-oh…”  Gilbert blinked, “I mean I guess that’s good but—“  He groaned a little bit but buried his face into Lovino’s neck, closing his eyes into his hair.  “I made it as far as here but I’m not sure how to get you _out_.”

Feliciano crawled forward to stare at the wings that Gilbert had discarded behind him.  He turned them in his hands.  “Huh.  I’ve seen these before…”

“Got them off of some ex-pirate,” Gilbert mumbled.

Feliciano frowned.  “Oh…”  He curled up into himself and rested his chin on his knees.  “Okay, um, well I guess I can give you two privacy for a bit if you want.”

Gilbert shook his head, “No, I mean, I just needed a moment to just _see_ Lovino to make sure he’s alright.  I…you guys are going to have to go back in there until I can figure out a way to get off this island.  One pair of wings will not work.  It’s hard enough work just to keep _one_ person suspended.”

“I can bring you food.  And supplies,” Lovino promised.  “Maybe you could make another pair—the castle is full of spare parts and stuff.”

Gilbert’s mouth fell open, “That’s a good idea.”  He glanced over at the wings, the cogs in his mind already turning, “It’s a cool technology, so I’m not even sure _how_ they work, but I’ve always been good at dismantling and re-mantling things.  I think I could do it!”

Lovino nodded.  “Good.  Then we’ll run far away together.”

Gilbert pulled away just enough to rub a thumb along Lovino’s cheek.  “Hey, about what you said—about that kiss on the train—did you mean that?“

Lovino grumbled something but met Gilbert’s eyes.  “Of fucking course I did.”  He swallowed a little bit, feeling so vulnerable but so safe at the same instance.  “What’s your answer…?”

He held his breath as Gilbert’s lips grazed his own then settled in for a gentle kiss.  Gilbert spoke against them, warm but dry and so tender.  “Should think that is obvious as hell.  I’ve been in love with you since before the aquarium shit went down.”

“Don’t make this a contest,” Lovino muttered, closing the distance again.  His fingers tangled into Gilbert’s hair.  This time, instead of desperation and urgency, he could quietly explore, his tongue at Gilbert’s teeth, fingertips searching.  He felt Gilbert smile against him and let out a giddy little laugh of his own.  “This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Hmmm,” Gilbert agreed.  He pulled apart, brows furrowing.  “You’re pretty banged up.”

“S’nothing,” Lovino muttered, “I’m a smartass, remember?  Apparently that shit really does come back to bite people in the ass.”

“I’ll get us out of here as soon as I can,” Gilbert promised. 

“I trust you,” Lovino answered. 

Feliciano coughed a little bit.

Both turned to look at him, foreheads still touching.

“Lovino, they’re going to wonder where we’ve gone.”

“Shit.”  Lovino climbed to his feet with a long sigh, but he moved as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  “Oi, Gil, I’ll see you later.  Signal with the bird or something.  I dunno.”

Gilbird popped his head from Gil’s pocket with a little cheep. 

“But I’ll bring as many parts as I can, then you’ll just have to keep telling me what you need.  I can probably find it,” he continued, letting Feliciano drag him from the brush.

They strode back to the castle together, Lovino trying not to glance backwards where he knew Gilbert was hiding and Feliciano staring glumly to one side.

“Well it’s good that he’s come back for you,” Feliciano finally said, “But…this is _dangerous_.  If they _find him—“_

“They won’t,” Lovino said.

Rather than climb up the balcony again, they walked around and in through a side door, confident that no one had seen.  They returned to the room, both silent for different reasons.

“So taking a dump involves getting twigs in your hair, does it,” Arthur muttered.  He jammed the dome into Lovino’s hands again.  “About time you returned.  Put some power through this.”

Lovino felt the surge of power well inside him, something born of hope, and released it into the metal.  The fans and gears spun faster than before.  The diode lit.

Arthur scratched his head and squinted to read the little measurement panel.  “Huh.  Better than before, but still not to the level I want it.  But that was quite a good jump…”  He took the dome back and returned to his own corner.  “Any progress is good progress,” he said.

“Speak for yourself,” Alfred groaned, flopping over backwards.  His fingertips were stained with grease.  His hair, similarly tainted, was tousled and his glasses askew. 

Lovino’s mind was on Gilbert.  He wondered if he could spend the night out in the bushes instead of in the room with Arthur and Alfred.  Would anyone notice if he was gone?

A few hours dragged by in this fashion, until all the group was exhausted and loathe to move.  Ludwig returned from some errands at lower tiers to collect Feliciano, who looked guilty when Lovino shot the soldier a nasty look. 

He waited until Arthur and Alfred settled on their bunks in their little room but sat awake on his, even as the night wore on.  For a while, he listened as Arthur mumbled in his sleep, almost laughing when Alfred seemed to answer.

“Just get married already,” he muttered, sliding off his bed and padding down the hall.

The corridors seemed haunted at night.  Out of the corner of his eye, he kept catching glimpses of his darkened reflections spanning into infinity.  He shuddered and walked faster, but they kept pace.  In a sweat, he took the hall in a dead sprint, spilling out into the main hall where he collapsed panting, heart hammering while he mentally screamed at himself for freaking out.

He collected himself and scrambled to his feet.  He knew the doors of the palace would be bolted shut, but he jimmied a door open to the same balcony that he and Feliciano had climbed down earlier.  Finally a breeze charged the stagnant air, as if trying to soothe the quiet panic rattling through Lovino.  His breathing slowed.  For a moment he closed his eyes then, focused, opened them to scan the foliage below. 

Nothing seemed out of place.  Maybe Gilbert was asleep.  He grabbed the balcony rail to lift himself up and over.

He froze.

Soldiers?

He dropped down behind it and peered through the thick foliage.  His knuckles turned white where he still gripped the railing. 

The colour drained from his face.  Why would they checking the bushes?  They shouldn’t—he’d spent several nights out here and not once had they even _patrolled_ this area—had someone seen him and Feliciano sneak through the courtyard earlier today--?

He had to warn Gilbert somehow.  Tell him to find a better place to hide—maybe if he was quick enough they could get him inside the castle and under the bed—then he could steal a uniform and pretend he was a soldier again—

Crouched as he was, he tensed.  They continued to search, disrupting leaves and sleeping birds, which squawked at the intrusion.  They spoke in muted tones, jabbing away with their spears. 

Then, like a tiger, he hurdled over the railing, using both hands to swing himself over.  He landed heavily on his feet then ran, screaming as loud as he could, toward the soldiers.

They jerked upright.  In the dark they could only see that he was _one_ of the Vargas brothers, but not which one.  They raised their spears.

Lovino careened into one of the men, barely dodging his spear, and started clawing at his face as they tumbled backward into the bushes.  With a crack, the soldier’s head hit the metal gate.  He went limp.

Lovino wheeled around, the unconscious soldier’s spear in his hand.  He panted heavily. 

At such proximity, the soldiers finally recognized him.

“It’s just the older Vargas brother,” one said, lowering his spear.  “He’s no threat.”

The others jeered.

“Something in these bushes you don’t want us to find, kid?” one snarled.  “What could it be?”

Lovino hurled the spear at him.  His aim was poor, but it grazed the soldier’s side, effectively silencing him as he stumbled back, hand pressed where blood seeped through his tunic.  “Just your bodies when I’m through beating the shit out of you,” he hissed.

The remaining three chuckled, unfazed by their comrade’s injury.  “Those are some pretty big words coming from an unarmed, outnumbered little shrimp.”

Lovino grit his teeth.  “Fought against worse odds than a few uppity soldiers.”

Nodding silently to each other, they advanced on him from three different sides.  The first pounced and, while Lovino was struggling against his hold, the second slammed in him into the ground, pressing his face into the dirt until he coughed and sputtered, everything consumed by desperation for oxygen and the taste of earth.  When his thrashing died into weak flailing, they loosened their hold.

“Cute,” the first said.

“Isn’t it sad though?” the second said, “Whoever was hiding in the bushes wasn’t willing to protect you.”

Lovino turned his head to the side.  He heaved, still coughing.  “There’s…there’s no one…”

“Yeah right,” the first said, kneeling beside him.  He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground right in front of Lovino’s eyes, laughing as he flinched.  “We heard reports of a man falling from the Fourth Tier, presumably to his death.  But, upon hearing _other_ reports, he apparently flew like a bird.  We knew he was still alive, and hiding on our Tier.  You see, we’ve seen this trick before, and we caught the men who tried to invade the _first_ time.  How foolish someone thinks they can use the same trick twice and get away with it.”

“Plus, why so eager to protect something that’s _not there?”_ the second quipped.

The soldier stumbled back.  A curse gurgled in his throat where blood started spurting into the grass as he collapsed, dagger embedded in his neck.  The other two jumped back, giving Lovino enough time to roll free then, scrambling to his feet, grab the dagger from the dead man and plunge it into the chest of another.  The last, screaming, butted Lovino’s head with the end of his spear so hard that he saw stars.  He fell somewhere past the cloying tang of blood and blossoming pain, but struggled to find his way to his hands and knees, blinking past black dots in his vision.

A shape tumbled from the bushes, fresh dagger in hand.  The last remaining soldier peppered the air with a warning whistle, but fell to a flash of steel.

“Goddammit—should have known everything was going too smooth—“ Gilbert said.  Even though his lover was disoriented, he pulled him up by the elbow, supporting him as best he could.  “Hey, Lovino.  We don’t have much time.  We have to figure something out—“

“Can hide…” Lovino mumbled.  He rubbed at his eyes.  Every breath brought him a firmer grip on reality.  He licked his lips a little.  Raw panic ate at the lining of his throat, til all he could taste was bile.  “If they find you, you’re as good as dead.  Take the wings and _go.  Get out of here._   I…I’ll be fine.  We can communicate with Gilbird.  I’m strong and smart, remember?  We’ll figure this out together.”

“Not sure if we have _time,_ ” Gilbert said, pointing to where soldiers started to pour out of a side door.  “Damn, it’s like an _anthill_.”  He tried to put on a brave face, but he shook, his hands clammy where he gripped Lovino’s shoulders.  “Is it worth going out with a fight?”

“There has to be a way to negotiate or some shit—“ Lovino said.

“Do you really think there is negotiation with these people--?”

They found themselves surrounded and Gilbert, honoring Lovino’s wishes, dropped both of his daggers.  They thudded into the ground like corpses.  He stood with his head held high, releasing Lovino save for his hand.


	12. Destroy from Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! Usually I aim for a morning/afternoon update, but it's been kinda a busy day. On the bright side, I've managed to get two jobs and so far I like both of them!! This means I'll pROBABLY be able to go Otakon (if everything works out logistically). Uh, that was just a sidenote, I guess.
> 
> Alternate name for this chapter: "Lovino and Gilbert decide to bite off more than they can chew".
> 
> But at least Gilbird is okay, and that's all that really matters. (:
> 
> Update next Wednesday!

“Well well well,” One soldier said, walking around the inside of the circle the others formed.  He stepped over the corpses of the soldiers and kicked at the first, who was alive but weak, bleeding out.  “Looks like finally we get a little excitement.”

The crowd parted and the king, dressed in cotton pajamas, wandered in.  His slippers slapped against the ground.  “Hm, so I am to assume that you are Gilbert Beilschmidt.  Shouldn’t you be tied to a train somewhere?  What is it that you want so badly that you invade my home?”

“I want Lovino back,” Gilbert snarled.  “He doesn’t belong to you.  He doesn’t belong to anyone.  Give us our freedom.”

“You have no bargaining chips,” the king said.  He snapped his finger at the soldier nearest him.  “Get Feliciano—“  He and several others pushed through and toward the castle.

Lovino ripped free from Gilbert’s hold and stood in front of him, arms out.  “He does have a bargaining chip.”

The king blinked.  “It is too early in the morning for that kind of talk.  Step down.”

Lovino frowned but did not waver.  “Because if you kill him or break him or whatever, I’m going to slip through the gate of your island and jump.  I can’t help you build your fucked up dream if _I’m_ dead.  So you will not touch him.”

“Lovino,” Gilbert warned, voice a harsh whisper, “ _Don’t._ ”

The king rolled his eyes, “You will have to be more creative than that.  I can make sure you never get within twenty feet of the rails.”

Silence fell over the crowd, which became unnaturally still.  Each soldier stared at the ground or in the opposite direction, stepping aside so that the soldiers leading Feliciano could march through.  They held him by each elbow.  He was blindfolded.

“Feliciano Vargas,” The king said, “Nice to see you well.”

Feliciano pressed his lips in a thin line.  “Just give the orders.”

Numbness seared through Lovino.  “Feli please…please Feliciano _don’t_.”

The king carefully came up behind Feliciano and eased the blindfold off him.  “Break this pitiful excuse for a soldier.” 

Feliciano took a step forward, but kept his gaze downward. 

Lovino did not move.  “Gilbert, don’t look into his eyes—“ he warned.  “Just…we’ll get out of this…”

By some miracle, Gilbert’s breathing was calm, though he stared at the ground with hollow eyes, like a man waiting for the gallows.  He’d ceased to feel. 

“Feliciano—“ Lovino said, voice cracking.  “Don’t do this.”

Feliciano swallowed slowly.  “I’m sorry, brother…if I don’t things just get worse for everyone involved.  I have to…protect…the two most important to me.”

“The hell happened to hoping for better?”

Feliciano shook his head.  “Forgive me, brother…”

Something within Lovino snapped and he struck his brother across the cheek so hard that the other stumbled back, an angry red mark streaked across his face.  Feliciano blinked, fingers pressed to his jaw. 

“Fine,” Lovino snapped, “But if you break _him_ , then you better break me first.  Or I’ll find a way to _make_ you break me.  Chew on _those_ options.”

Feliciano grabbed the blindfold from the ground and pulled it sharply over his eyes.

“We will just kill him the old fashioned way,” the King muttered, gesturing to the soldiers who brought Feliciano.  “Make sure you do so cleanly, however.  This place really is not designed for disposing of _that_ kind of waste.”

“We’ll just drop the bodies off the side,” the soldier responded, kicking at the dead again.

The king shuddered a little bit.  “Would hate to be living under the roof they crash through.”

The soldier shoved Lovino roughly aside.  The inner circle latched on to him, one man trapping Lovino’s armpits between flexed elbows and tipping him backwards, so that his heels left the ground.  Feliciano, though he was blindfolded, looked away with a little whimper.

The scrape of a sword sliced through a tense silence.  The soldier drew back for the swing that would take Gilbert’s head.

He yelped, stumbling back, but swung.  And missed.  Something had hurled toward his face.  Now it squawked at him, ripping with tiny claws, scratching at his eyes.  A harsh beak popped one in a little spurt of blood.  He screamed and swatted.  It batted to the ground, rolled, but took off again.

A second soldier jumped in, slamming it harder into the ground with the butt of a long rifle.

“Gilbird—“ Lovino screamed, struggling anew. 

The King strode forward, trapping the bird beneath his foot.  In that instance, he had all the power in the world to crush him into nothing more than gears and dented metal.  Instead he carefully wrapped him in his hands, holding his head still so he could get a closer look.  The bird struggled and screeched.

“This is impressive engineering,” He said, eyes lighting up.  He dared trace along one of the feathers of the bird’s wing.  “Very expertly built and…” He looked over at Lovino, “Very well suited to the energy provided to it.  Conscious, is it?  You put _consciousness_ into a machine?”  He spoke like an excited professor, but then his lips fell into a solemn, thoughtful frown.  “You might deserve to live, Gilbert.”

Gilbert blinked, still fighting the haze of imminent danger.

“Did you build this?” The king repeated.

Gilbert managed a weak nod.  Somewhere in all this, he’d fallen to his knees.  He looked around, trying to piece together the past ten minutes, and feeling sick with both relief and self-disgust.  A good soldier didn’t blank out in danger, especially when another life was on the line.

“Then you are probably more useful to me than Alfred is.  Man has no talent with engineering—I just thought he would at least know his way around rivets and bolts, working on his own planes.”  His grin brimmed with enthusiasm.  “So is it freedom that you desire?”

Gilbert swallowed.  “Lovino’s freedom,” he corrected him.  “And I know you will never grant that.  I’m not an idiot.”

The soldier finally released Lovino.  An ache tightened his shoulders and arms as he stumbled forward into the grass.  Still, he crawled to Gilbert.

“You are correct,” The king answered, “I went through too much to acquire both of the Vargas brothers.  But it is not a bad life here.  I only inflict suffering on those who defy me.  You can live together here in relative peace, as long as I get my mechanical army.”

“Just agree to it,” Lovino murmured to Gilbert. 

Gilbert climbed to his feet.  He would not make a deal with a man while on his knees with his neck exposed.  “Fine.  But _no_ harm to either of us.”

“I reemphasize my earlier statement,” The king said.  “Welcome back to my force.  _Soldier.”_   He gestured to his men, who took both Gilbert and Lovino by the arms and escorted them into a room, which they locked by wrapping chains around the handles of the double doors.

Seething, Gilbert threw himself onto a stale mattress.  It exploded in a little puff of dust.  Fighting the urge to cough, he rolled over and curled into a ball, finally able to shake, his teeth chattering.  “Damn, I thought I was dead for sure…”

“We’re safe for now,” Lovino said, letting his legs give out.  Sweat-drenched clothes clung awkwardly to his body; groaning, he picked at the collar of his shirt.  “Not dead til your heart stops beating.  Can’t go down without a fight.”

“At least not when there’s something to fight for.”  Gilbert looked away, but squirmed out of his own shirt, which he tossed in the corner.  “T-thanks for fighting for me, by the way.”

Lovino nodded and, though he was hot and sticky, climbed up into his lap.  “Gotta look after each other,” he muttered. 

“That bastard has my bird still,” Gilbert realized.  He clung harder. 

Lovino frowned.  “Gilbird is smart, so he’ll be okay.  Maybe he’ll peck his eyes out while he’s sleeping.”

Gil nodded with a little hum. “This is a shitty way to reunite.”

“Yeah, kinda,” Lovino agreed. 

“I still think we can manage to escape if we play our cards right,” Gilbert continued, “I can just build a second pair of wings in secret.  We’ll be extra good.  Get their guards down then bust out of this joint.”

Lovino nodded.  “We have plenty of time.  I…I have a block on my powers.  So it’s not like I can power his shitty mechanical soldier scheme without breaking past it first anyway.”

“You think there is a way to unblock it?” Gilbert asked.  He stroked at Lovino’s hair, more out of comfort to himself than to his lover.  “I just mean in general.”

Lovino lifted one shoulder.  “Hell if I know.  Maybe.  Probably.  I think maybe if I got my memories back in full, but I’m not sure how to _do_ that.”

“Me neither,” Gilbert said, “Maybe just talk to your brother about things.  See if you can’t trigger memories and fill in the gaps as you go.”

Lovino frowned and nuzzled his face deeper into his chest.  His breath was warm against his skin.  “Don’t know if I feel like looking at his face right now.  He was going to break you without batting an eye.”

With a pang, Gilbert realized that Lovino understood just what it was to be betrayed by a brother.  He groaned and held him more tightly.  “I’m not sure if he felt like he had a choice…”  The words sent an icy chill down his own spine, standing the hair on the back of his neck on end.  Maybe that’s why Ludwig did what he did.  Maybe that was the difference between him and his brother.  Ludwig would stop at nothing to obey orders; Gilbert had a conscience.  _You have the choice to say no, brother_ , he thought.  The idea that Ludwig weighed fulfilling his duty as a soldier over his own brother cut deep.

\--

“—Feliciano.”  Ludwig pulled the sobbing prisoner into his arms and squeezed tight, his own body like a barricade against the dark stillness of the little prison cell.  Ludwig had his own room, with a properly comfortable mattress, but he spent most of his nights on the thin little pad buried deep beneath the castle, where he knew his body warmth was constant, unlike the thin blanket Feliciano would have shivered under otherwise.

Feliciano opened his eyes, groggy.  They were wet.  Another nightmare.  The pieces slipped away somewhere between rocking arms and gentle kisses to his sweat-soaked forehead.

“Are you alright?” Ludwig asked, once he was sure the other was awake.  “I’m sorry I could not come sooner.  I had a lot to deal with in the Second Tier.  A menial dispute, but you know how stubborn entitled people can be…”

He’d hoped for at least a little chuckle from the other, but Feliciano only whined and curled up. 

“What happened?”  Ludwig asked.  When Feliciano didn’t answer, he teetered between gentle and stern, but finally repeated, “Feliciano.  What happened?”

“I had a nightmare,” Feliciano said, “S’okay.”

“You’re shaking,” Ludwig said.

“Not as much…” Feliciano answered.  He swallowed gulps of air.  “Ludwig, I was just…I think it was about that pirate.”

Ludwig started rubbing his back.  Feliciano rested his chin on his shoulder and stared at the wall behind Ludwig.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for that,” Ludwig finally said. 

“I just…kept seeing the light leave his eyes.  The way he collapsed and convulsed.  The foam at his mouth.  And his friend screaming.”  The tremors began anew.  Feliciano bit back a sob.  “His friend was _screaming_.  And it’s like I never even touched _him_ but in a way I broke him _too_.”

“Feliciano,” Ludwig said, pulling him back by the shoulders to look him in the eyes.  He grit his teeth against an instant headache but, determined, maintained the stare.  His temples began to throb.  His vision wavered.

Feliciano ripped his eyes away.  “Don’t—“

“I want to be able to speak to you eye to eye—“ Ludwig said.  “I don’t care if it hurts—“

“You always say that, and I’ll always say no,” Feliciano muttered, finally just closing his eyes. 

Ludwig let his arms go limp.  Feliciano sought his chest again. 

“I hate being used as a tool.  I’m not a tool.  Every time I’m forced to break someone, a bit of me breaks too.  A-and I almost—I almost did the same thing to my brother and _his_ lover.  Broke them both by just breaking the one.  I didn’t even—I didn’t even—I wouldn’t have been able to stop it.”  Feliciano’s voice dissolved into broken sobs.  He heaved for air.

“This isn’t _fair_.  I never wanted to _be_ this.  Ludwig, listen to me.  Stop obeying the king.  Just stop.  Let’s escape this place and never come back.  I don’t care if we can’t start a new life in Volare itself, let’s just get as far away from this place as humanly possible.  Some place where maybe I can garden or something—create and nurture instead of destroy all the time.”

“I don’t see how we _can—_ “ Ludwig started.  He felt a lump form in his throat.  He swallowed past it, “If I could get you out of here I would.  But there’s only one exit—“

Feliciano shook his head, waving his arms like he wanted to communicate much more than his stumbling words could.  “We at least have to _try_.  We can work with Lovino and Gilber—“

“ _Gilbert?!”_

Feliciano opened his eyes, mouth falling open.  “…Yes?”

“Goddammit,” Ludwig muttered, fists clenching.  “I never meant for it to go this far…I was informed he’d be quietly removed from the situation.  How is it that he’s _here?”_   He’d hoped he’d never have to stand face to face with the seething resentment of his brother after what he’d done.  There was no way he’d ever make him understand his decision to betray him.

“He went after Lovino…” Feliciano said.  “Almost…lost his life for it.  But now he’s forced to help build the robots, because he’s apparently an engineering genius.”  He shook harder with a quivering breath.  “Thank god…”

“He always has been talented,” Ludwig muttered.  His brows were pinched together under hard eyes.  “This…will be difficult.  My working with him will be difficult.  My brother does not forgive easily.  And I cannot deny that I have wronged him.”  _And I would do it all over again,_ he thought, staring at where Feliciano’s shoulder peaked from under his too-big shirt.  Welts from recent whippings were swollen red.

“But you’ll manage,” Feliciano said, “Because it’s important.  So speak to him and make plans.”

\--

If Alfred was surprised to see Gilbert, he didn’t let on with much more than a raised brow and a swift handshake before offering him a little coffee and showing him around the hall they worked in.  They’d left the parts scattered around.  Alfred’s attempt at the robot was put together neatly, but lacking some vital parts.

“You don’t build much, do you?” Gilbert said, inspecting it.

Alfred shook his head.  “I don’t build _at all_.  Sure I know how to repair my own plane, but anything major I sent to Arthur.  I don’t know why he thinks I’m the right man for this job.  I can weld stuff together and place rivets with the best of them, but I don’t know anything about all this.”  He made a sweeping gesture to the schematics spread across the floor, folded and unfolded, edges curling.

Gilbert pulled the book from the bag on his back.  “Odd that…I coincidentally find something like this.”  He seemed troubled.

 _Like clockwork_.

With a shudder, he laid it out anyway and started leafing through then, grabbing the schematics, started to compare the plans.  “These are pretty similar,” he mused, making a few marks here and there with a charcoal pencil.  He added in what he knew from making Gilbird then sat thinking, lips pursed and the pencil balanced precariously on his upper lip.

Lovino sat sipping at his own little cup of coffee.  It only filled him with nervous energy.  He tore back and forth across the floor, stepping over piles of junk and snaking around the group until Gilbert grabbed his ankle from behind.  He stumbled but did not trip.

“Stop,” Gilbert muttered.

Lovino frowned at him.  “I can’t just sit here still all day…”

Gilbert frowned back, but shoved a pile of scrap to him.  “Then sort through this.”

“Asshole,” Lovino grumbled, though he started to separate the pieces based on length and type.  Soon he had a little pile of nuts and bolts and some thin sheets of metal. 

Arthur thrust the dome back into his hands.  With a long sigh, Lovino pumped power through.  The other frowned, “This is worse than yesterday.”

“Hell if _I_ know,” Lovino snapped.  He rolled onto his back to stare upwards again. 

Feliciano finally padded in, alone, though a hulking figure slinked away, hidden by the door save for the shadow stretched out over the floor.

He plopped down next to his brother who just shot him a glare and inched away.

Feliciano followed.  “Lovino…please let’s not do this.”  He wrapped his arms around Lovino as he closed the gap.  “I’m sorry, okay…for everything.  For when we were kids and I broke you.  Even for taking the fall for you.  And for last night…”

Lovino grumbled something but let him hold tight.  “Whatever.  Let’s just…let’s just forget last night ever happened, because I know you’ll give me a bunch of crap about needing to protect me and your precious soldier.  You’re just lucky Gilbert and I are alright.”

Arthur shook his head from afar and muttered to Alfred, “See, that’s the kind of relationship I wish I had with my brothers.  But they’re a stubborn lot of assholes.”

“You fit in,” Alfred said, beaming.

He was rewarded for his comment with a swift jab to the rib.

Lovino grumbled some more and slurped more coffee.  “I need to steal Gilbird back.”

Feliciano cocked his head. “…Gilbird?”

“Yeah, it’s a bird that Gil made.  I helped.  On the important part,” he said, almost beaming.  Then his expression turned solemn.  “But I’ll get him back one way or another.  That gross man is probably mistreating him.”

“The King is usually down in the Second Tier for social events during the day,” Feliciano said.  “Let’s go right now.”

“Can we get _in?_ ”

“If we’re creative enough,” Feliciano said, taking him by the wrist.  He handed him a few of the tools that Gilbert was not using—a screwdriver and some pins. 

“If we’re breaking in, then I can do that,” Lovino answered, dropping them into his pocket.  They left.

They walked in silence, out past the hall of mirrors and through the throne room, empty but with the remnants of breakfast still on the table.  Confident and at ease, Feliciano popped a few grapes into his mouth.  He tossed the bunch to Lovino, who was only able to eat a few for the anxiety coiling in his stomach.  He frowned.  “Can we really just waltz in here?”

Feliciano nodded, “The King isn’t around.  The soldiers are probably all sleeping off their hangovers.  This is the safest part of the day for me.  What am I going to hurt just wandering around?”  He strode behind the throne and started picking through some of the artifacts on the bookshelf.  The king had a taste more for mechanical wonders than opulence, and it showed in the little automatons and complex clockwork assembles that he’d collected.  Feliciano finally tapped at the hour hand of a large railroad watch, dangling by a chain from beneath a glass dome which Feli had removed with one hand.

Something whirred.  The second hand began to move and the chain, revealed to be a series of interconnected parts rather than loops hooked together, started to twist.  Deep within the walls, smaller gears revved up larger gears.  A deep groan accompanied by a metallic clicking followed.  The bookshelf split into two, revealing a dark passageway. 

Lovino gaped.

Feliciano just kept walking.  “Plus he doesn’t know how much of his secret passageways that I know.  I get _bored_.”  His feet tapped against metal steps.  It grew colder as they dug deeper underground.

They emerged into a round room lined completely with a circular bench, lit overhead by little paper lanterns concealing lit glass bulbs.  Gears and half-finished projects were scattered everywhere, ducking beneath curling scrolls of schematics.  Lovino stooped down.  Beneath the benches fireflies clustered and vibrated against each other, dormant for the time being, though their tails glowed softly.  A few lay captive in canning jars shoved into the corner, where they crawled across the bottom, over one another, wings idly twitching.

“Holy shit,” Lovino muttered.

“It’s his workshop,” Feliciano said.  “I only go in here when I’m _sure_ that he’s not around.  And I sometimes put molasses in his clockwork.  Or swap gears around.  It pisses him off, but he thinks it’s just a mistake _he_ made.” 

“You’re more of an asshole than I probably would have remembered,” Lovino said.  He paused but allowed himself a little smile, “But fuck if that’s not the most hilarious shit I’ve ever heard.”

Feliciano pointed.  “There’s your bird—“

Gilbird paced along a little metal bar suspended in the large brass cage hanging from a hook to their right.  He chirped loudly when Lovino approached and started to hop side to side, impatient for Lovino to pick the lock with the tools given him earlier.  The door swung open with a little click.  The bird tackled his face just hard enough that Lovino stumbled back, catching him and clutching him to his chest.

“Oi, don’t let yourself get captured like that again, you hear me?”

The bird chirped and burrowed into his pocket.

The brothers exchanged triumphant looks and made a run for it.  Behind them, Feliciano reversed the hands on the clock.  The room rumbled behind them, presumably closing the passageway, but they were already down the hall and back toward their ‘headquarters’.

The bird shot from his pocket to return to its master the second Lovino crashed breathlessly through the doors--

\--and Gilbert, who had been seated crossed legged before, fell onto his back with the force his bird attacked him.  “G- _Gilbird_ —“

The bird walked all over his face and chirped angrily down at him, perched on the tip of his nose then, satisfied that Gilbert had been suitably reprimanded, hopped across his chest and sat on his heart. 

“You have a lot of attitude, you know that?” Gilbert said, though he laughed, scooping his bird up so he could rock himself back upright.  He rubbed his cheek against him, wanting to cry from relief. 

Alfred had been watching the scene unfold, but then he pointed behind the Vargas brothers.  “Whoa, uh, not good.”

Gilbert shoved his bird beneath his shirt and wrapped his arms around the lump.  “Oh _hell_ no—“

Lovino turned.

A trail of the fireflies twisted and bobbed behind him like a lazy river, blinking on and off.  They seemed to have no destination other than to follow Lovino.  They drifted around him when he’d stopped walking.

Lovino swatted at a few.  They started up a frenzy to dodge then continued peacefully wandering.  “He did say that I…created these.”

“ _You_ created the single most _frustrating_ parasite in this land?” Arthur asked.  He’d grabbed a canvas sack and threw it over the robot that he and Alfred had been constructing.  “They _eat_ machinery.”

“It’s not like I meant to,” Lovino huffed.

“Plus they’re kind of cute,” Feliciano said.

“Cute my _ass_ ,” Arthur grunted.

Alfred snickered to himself, eyes flickering over to Arthur’s backside.  He seemed at ease once he’d realized that the fireflies would not attack. 

Gilbert groaned, “Well, uh, make them go away or something.  Make them eat something of the king’s and leave us alone.”

Lovino frowned, “I’m not sure I can just tell a bunch of…machines what to do.  Even if I did create them.  How the hell do you think they would listen to me?  They’re machines.  They aren’t _alive_ even if they move and react.”

Slowly, Gilbert stood, eyes thoughtful.  “Yeah, well…Gilbird is sentient.”  He frowned a little bit, “And at risk of being eaten alive.”

“I’m pretty sure Gilbird doesn’t listen to me _either_ ,” Lovino muttered, but he swatted his hand at the flock again.  This time they ignored him.  “Oi,” he said, frowning.  “Get out of here.”

They continued their current. 

Lovino shrugged, lips pursed, then put his hands on his hips.  “ _OI_ ,” he said louder.  He felt foolish.  It showed in the way his cheeks and ears burned red.

“Alright, well, possibly we can open the window and see if they’ll drift out or something,” Arthur suggested.

“Slowly but surely,” Alfred groaned.

Feliciano slunk away toward the corner.  He’d suspected that his presence wasn’t helping.  “Brother, I know you _can_ control them.  I saw you do it when we were kids.  Just breathe.” He slid to the floor, watching him.

Lovino nodded and closed his eyes.  A scattered memory flashed into the darkness somewhere between a stabbing pain in his skull.  He was five and alone, wandering through the tangle of a vineyard.  The sun had set.

He was afraid of the dark so he’d made the fireflies light his way.  They twisted and contorted in their streams, a glittering mass of swirling glowing pinpricks.  Little wings droned.  Tiny gears whirred.

He tried to grapple with the emotion he’d felt then—tried to figure out the process behind what apparently came so naturally to him as a child.  In his mind’s eye, he kept walking.

It was summer, though not too hot.  Heavily burdened by fruit ready for harvest, the vineyard was heavy with a sweet perfume.  Lovino was always tempted by the clumps of grapes.  His father was the co-owner of this vineyard, and had slapped his wrist the last time he’d plucked the fruit from the vine.  He’d done so later out of spite, which was why he was wandering alone and lost, but not before seizing the first clump he found and grinding it into the dirt beneath his heel.  A noise had startled him, so he ran.  Now his smock was torn and dirty from trying to climb a crumbling wall and his ankle twinged with each step. 

Mouth set into a little line, he swiped at tears in the corner of his eyes.  He would not cry.  Instead, he followed the trail of fireflies, until the pound of feet and heavy breathing sent him running in the opposite direction.

The being overtook him.

Strong arms scooped him up.  The voice was more frantic than stern, muffled with relief as the assailant held him close.  “Lovino Vargas—I was afraid someone had stolen you out of your bed—don’t scare me like that again—“

The child’s eyes opened wide but he clung to his father, hanging on even as the man stood and waved over to a few other men at the entrance.  His chest rumbled as he shouted back, “I followed this absurd trail of fireflies.  I found him—“

 _His father_.

Lovino came to, blinking hard against the afternoon light, which had suddenly become harsh.

“Lo…vino?” Gilbert asked.  He took a step forward.

Lovino shook his head, “I’m fine…”

“You’re crying,” Gilbert said.

Lovino drew a sleeve across his eyes.  “Like hell I am.”  He swallowed, feeling incredibly small and lost, like that child in the vineyard.  He had had a father.  A father who would run from the house in absolute panic the minute he realized his son was missing.

He hardly noticed Gilbert wading through the flies to wrap around him.  Squeezing tight, he nuzzled his cheek against Lovino’s face.  “Oi.  Don’t sweat it about the flies,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m not,” Lovino said.  When he lifted a finger, one perched there.  Its legs were long and spindly.  The abdomen was made from a spare bulb which sputtered, unable to light.  “I think…I understand how to do it.  In theory.”  It helped to focus on this to push away the dull ache of pain slinking into his stomach.  He wanted to throw up.

Gilbert cupped his own hand around Lovino’s, leaning forward to stare at the insect also.

“Shit, if a _five_ year old can do it then fuck yeah I can too…”  He spoke softly, more to himself than to Gilbert, then straightened up a little bit.  Though he did nudge the fly into the air, he twisted his hand over to tangle his fingers into Gilbert’s.  He didn’t fall into a trance so much as a quiet meditation, his eyes seeing just the flies. 

Gilbert felt a faint surge of energy that warmed him to the soul.  He felt light somehow, caught between dizzy and ecstatic.  Right as Arthur heaved a window open, the flies swarmed up into a pulsating mass and streamed into the open air.  Once they disappeared, Lovino let his shoulders sag.  He released a long breath.

“Damn,” Gilbert said.  “That was…kind of cool to be honest.”

“You _know_ , we could do some major sabotage like that,” Alfred said.  “Just because they’re cool creatures doesn’t excuse them from being machine-eating parasites.  And if Lovino can control them at his current power level, we could so some serious damage to the king’s machinery.  Maybe even to the trade around this city.”

Arthur thwacked him with his gloves, which he’d removed just for that purpose.  He slid them back on.  “To what end, Alfred?  Cripple this city?  Plunge the country into even worse economic ruin?”

Alfred shrugged, “I mean, if we could get _rid_ of the king then—“

“Don’t you dare let anyone overhear such a notion,” Arthur hissed.  “It’d be _your_ head they find on the ground far below this island before the last word left your lips—“

Alfred waved his hand, “Calm down, Arthur, we’re all friends here…I’m just _frustrated_ is all.  And I’m all for revolution—“

“It’d result in pure anarchy,” Arthur said, tugging his gloves off so he could slap him again.

Alfred shrugged, “Things get worse before they get better.  And you have to suck the poison out before anything _is_ going to get better.”

“Okay, so _then_ what?” Arthur demanded, pacing harsh circles across the room now.  His robe rustled violently with each echoing step.  “You sabotage his machinery.  He’s pissed off and people are starving.  You plan to somehow fight past a swarm of soldiers and assassinate him, risking that…that _monster—“_ He thrust a finger toward Feliciano—“ripping your mind to shreds--?”

Feliciano recoiled visibly.  Lip quivering, he opened his mouth to defend himself, but fell silent when Arthur turned on him.

“I finally did a bit of research on you.  And I didn’t want to believe it.  But you killed Mathias.  Or as good as killed him anyway.”

The cry that tore from Feliciano’s throat was that of a wounded animal.  He looked anywhere but at Arthur.  “I had no choice,” he finally said, as levelly as he could.  “Please do not blame me for what the king forces me to do.”

“—Mathias?”  Gilbert turned to stare fully at the conversation he’d been trying too hard to ignore.

Arthur continued pacing.  At least he was no longer glaring at the defenseless boy in the corner but he seethed with fury.  “Yeah.  You know him.  Mathias Kohler.  Mercenary in his youth, Pirate after he retired.  Apparently he led the band that tried to assassinate the king a few years ago—“

“He—oh shit.  I’d heard that name from the mouths of pirates—figured it was the same Mathias but they wouldn’t say what _happened_ —I didn’t want to believe—he’s _dead?”_

 “No.  A vegetable.  A slobbering vegetable—“ Arthur said.

Alfred, who had started working on his robot again, dropped the wrench.  It clattered loudly.  He looked just as stricken as Gilbert felt.  “No.  No no nonononono.  Mathias was my friend.”

“Yes, well, if you want to become just like him, then go about with this nonsense.  Fail like he did.  Just don’t make me have to _watch_.”

Jaw set, Lovino stood and walked to the corner.  He wrenched Feliciano to his feet, but then his touch became gentle.  He stood in front of his brother.  “Okay.  Well so what.  This Mathias is dead and he’s been made an example.  But you will _not_ fucking blame my brother for this.  Like he _asked_ for these powers.  Like he _asked_ for some king to force him to use them.”

An angry response died on Arthur’s lips.  A flicker of guilt crossed his features, but he smoothed it over with a frown.  “Right,” he mumbled, “But I know who to trust and who not to trust.  I’m not hellbent on getting _killed_.”  He stormed from the room.

“—Arthur…”  Alfred looked helplessly to Gilbert then ran after him, shouting after him.

Once they were alone, Lovino turned and put both his hands on either of Feliciano’s shoulders.  He peered into his face, not demanding that Feliciano meet his eyes.  “He’s just upset is all,” he said, “Pain…does things to people—“

“Don’t talk to me about pain,” Feliciano muttered, smacking his hands away.  “I’m going back to my cell.”  He started off.

He tried sidestepping Ludwig, who had entered, returned from another mission and alerted to the commotion by the shouts echoing down the hall.  He instantly wrapped his arms around Feliciano, crushing him to his chest.  He did not allow him to struggle free. 

He didn’t dare meet Gilbert’s eyes.  “My apologies,” he mumbled.  He nudged Feliciano out the door.

Even the tender way that Ludwig held Feliciano could not quiet the seething anger in Gilbert’s chest.  “Don’t think I’ll just _forget_ about what you did,” he called out.

Lovino sagged into him, digging the heels of his hands into his head.  “God-fucking-dammit can everyone just stop _shouting_ at each other.”

Gilbert frowned but nodded, “Let’s just…let’s work on these stupid robots.  Everyone bailed on us, but we still have to make progress…”

Rather than ask the countless new questions churning inside him, Lovino nodded and traded his unease for the methodical process of sorting parts and holding plates together so that Gilbert could weld them.  Eventually he grew tired and leaned against the albino as he worked.  The rippling of his muscle against his cheek soothed him.

“Hnnn,” Lovino remarked after some time.  The silence had been avoided by the clinking of metal and Gilbert’s quiet breathing.

“What?” Gilbert asked.  His cheeks were still tinged an angry red.  His brow was sharply furrowed.

“I don’t want to build robots for the king,” Lovino said.

Gilbert stopped only for a second.  “Well it’s not like we have a choice.”

Lovino shook his head.  He waited two beats.  “No.  I’m saying that I want to build robots for us.  Let him think we’re building his damn army, but really I’m the one in control.  How the hell does he not see that?  My powers?  My orders.  I’ll make that worm pay for ruining my fucking life then turning my brother into a murderer.”

This time Gilbert put his tools onto the ground, blinking.  “God, you scare me sometimes.  But that’s…kind of brilliant.”

“It’s _obvious_ ,” Lovino muttered.  “So painfully fucking obvious…”

“We have to make _enough_ though,” Gilbert said, “And I’m not sure how we can do that.  He has a lot of soldiers…but the idea of overwhelming from within is great.  He fled to a secluded floating island, put up gates, ensured one entrance, filled the place to the brim with guards—all to protect himself from who the hell knows what.  Like hell is he considering an inside attack.”

“We just need enough to escape,” Lovino said.  “Maybe cripple his forces a bit to teach him to mess with us.”

“Lovino,” Gilbert said, “If we’re doing this at all, we have to go all the way.  We escape here just wounding him?  He’ll send troops to find us.  We won’t have a life of freedom.  We’ll have a life of paranoia and living hell trying to run from him.  We have to kill him.”

Lovino’s teeth snagged his bottom lip.  He pulled his knees to his chest.  “But what about what Arthur said about anarchy and that shit?”

Gilbert shrugged, “I like what Alfred said.  It’s like a snakebite.  You have to suck the poison out.  And that hurts a hell of a lot, but then maybe this hellhole of a country can recover.”

Even though Lovino frowned, he knew that Gilbert was right.  He climbed to his feet so he could tug the canvas cloth from the robot that Arthur and Alfred had been working on.  “Then we better get working.  Teach me out to build this shit.  Maybe tomorrow everyone will get their heads out of their asses and _help_ us.”

“Well, I’m still in the designing stage,” Gilbert said, “There is a lot to consider when building a robot with this many moving parts, especially ones expected to make coordinated movements.  Plus something that can hold on to your power…because if you zap something and it fizzles out of energy, it’d be like needing to be plugged in all the time…” 

He leafed through the book a few pages, leaning almost horizontal to the ground to squint at the fine print.  His fingers traced a schematic.  “But the idea of a closed circulatory system…but for energy is kind of brilliant.”  He glanced back to his robot, “Which is what I’m trying to mimic here.  I didn’t have to do that for Gilbird, but I think because he’s so _small_ it wouldn’t have mattered.  He just has a box that works as a heart—and that was just me being cheesy in the moment.”  He scoffed to himself, scratching at the back of his neck.  He was almost feverish in his excitement.

Lovino watched him a moment.  “You… _you’re_ the one who’s fucking brilliant.  Goddamn…”

Cheeks tinged red, Gilbert shrugged a little.  “It’s what I’m passionate about.  Building.  Tinkering.  You’d be surprised how many possibilities you have with even just one set of gears, if you know what you’re doing.”  He blinked again.  And again—as if questioning the book in front of him.  “Well shit.”  _Like Clockwork_.  “Which is why we’re going to stay one step ahead of the enemy, whoever he is.  We might have a set mix of circumstances, but we’re just going to get a little creative…”

“What--?”

Gilbert threw himself into his work with a fresh spurt of energy.  “You know what,” he said, wiping at a sweaty forehead with an old rag, “I’m just going to build a prototype, and make the schematics really clear.  If the king wants his army, he’s going to build it himself. Put those soldiers he already has to use.”  He grinned to himself.  Sweat started to sting at his eyes.  His hair, heavy and damp, was plastered to his forehead and neck.  “He’ll build the thing that kills him.”

“Maybe you should drink some water,” Lovino muttered, “You’re starting to act like you’re fucking out of your mind.”  He flopped over just enough to stretch across the floor to grab an abandoned tankard without actually having to stand.  He thrust it into Gilbert’s hands.

The albino drank deeply.  “Goddamn, just let me be _excited_.”  He grinned up at Lovino.  “Because this is going to be…this is going to be the best chance anyone has got.  Just gotta work through a few setbacks and shit…”

“Yeah, like the part where I can barely use my powers if at all,” Lovino muttered.  Still, the enthusiasm was contagious.  He felt giddy in spite of himself.

Gilbert took Lovino’s hand in his.  “You managed with Gilbird.  And with the fireflies.  It’s there.  It’s below the surface but it’s there.  We’ll figure it out.”  He squeezed, “Yeah?”

Lovino scowled, but nodded.  “Yeah.”

Gilbert closed in for a gentle kiss.  His fingertips pushed through Lovino’s hair.  He smelled of grease and sweat.  He tasted almost metallic.

Lovino pulled a face and pushed him away.  “Oi, don’t kiss me stinking like that.  Did you fucking kiss the robot _first_ or something?”

Gilbert chuckled to himself and waggled his eyebrows.  “Maybe!  Who wants to know?”

With a huff, Lovino jabbed him in the chest with his finger.  “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Jeaaaaalous much?”

Lovino kissed him again, this time harder.  “Smelly asshole,” he mumbled against his lips. 

“You’re the only asshole I’d ever kiss,” Gilbert promised him.  His tongue traced the bottom of Lovino’s lip, feeling the marks where he’d gnawed it out of anxiety.  He so desperately wanted to lose himself there for just a second.

“Good,” Lovino muttered.  “Now get back to work.  Robots aren’t going to build themselves…”  His fingers were tangled in the back of Gil’s hair when he pulled away, breathless.  “Plenty of time for kissing when we bring the monarchy to its knees and shit like that.”

“Hopefully not just kissing…” Gilbert said.

Lovino flicked a gear at his head.  “Build.”

“Sheesh, sheesh,” he complained, throwing his hands up in case of more projectiles, “I’m building already—but only if you sit over there and brainstorm how to break your own damn power-block.“  He grinned and started reassembling the parts that had somehow become scattered.  He marked every decision down in charcoal pen, which had spread from his fingertips to his face and everything he touched.  “But seriously, Lovino.  We should…talk about what we want.  When we’re not scared for our lives.”

Lovino had flopped over backwards to stare at the ceiling again.  The floor was nice and cool against his back.  He fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he spoke.  “What do you mean?”

“Like…living together.  Hell if I know.  I just don’t want a life without you after all this is over.  So let’s talk about it later, okay?”

Lovino hesitated but nodded.  “Okay.”

Gilbert’s smile turned tender.  His heart felt light.  “Awesome!”  He chuckled through some embarrassment and threw himself over some paper, quill shaking in his hand.  “I’m going to—I’m going to send Gilbird out with a note for Antonio.  Tell them what’s going on.  I think this is something they’ll want news of.  Plus I don’t want Gilbird around where the king can get to him again.  Let him think that he escaped somehow.” 

He rolled up the note and secured it to the bird’s leg.  Gilbird could hardly stay still; he hopped side to side until Gilbert pinned him down with one hand.  “Don’t worry, I told him not to come barging in, but gave him the option to be close by in case he’s needed.  We’ll see!”  He released the bird to speed off out the window.

 


	13. The Ruby Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to edit but I can hardly keep my eyes open, so...maybe later. Trying to update Mertalia but it's p slow.

João’s actions were not without repercussion.  Of course no one had mourned the noblemen’s death, but the kingdom, suddenly out of production at the Silf mine, came by to investigate.  João played the part of a haggard peasant, wearing ripped and dirty clothes on purpose while Antonio and his crew stood hidden nearby.  These men were soldiers dressed as merchants.  They wore fine silks but seemed ill-suited in them, like they were used to armor.  Their daggers were poorly concealed.

“It’s run dry,” João informed them.  “Nothing we can do about _that.”_ He wore his hair down today.  It was growing too long.

“We just think it’s highly suspicious that your supervisor would meet his end… _coincidentally_ right before such claims,” one said, wrinkling his nose at the stench of burning oils.  He rubbed burning eyes with a silken sleeve—proof that he was no official. 

“Is it really?” João asked.  This time he smirked a little bit.  “We all know he was dabbling in the black market.  Suddenly unable to produce product?  They have no use for him.  They killed him.  They even came by _here_ and saw for themselves.  Couple of them met their end.  With no Silf down there anymore, the mine itself has caught fire.  You want to check?  Go risk your life.  I hear silk catches fire _fast._ ”

The group shuddered.  One unrolled a thick parchment and scrawled something down.  “There’s something fishy here is all.”

João shrugged.  “What could you possibly want with land that catches fire?  We’re of no use to you or the kingdom anymore.”  He turned to leave, not caring if they thought this discussion needed to continue or not.  His special shoes, leather infused with Silf, allowed him to walk across a line of fire that had crept along behind him.  He’d instructed his boys to start lighting the prairie.  It traveled in waves, taking its time without the wind to push it along.  To the soldiers it was an uncontrollable blazing inferno.  To João, it was the spirit of his land.  He didn’t mind the burn of smoke in his eyes or nostrils or the way it caught his cloak then died.  He walked slowly.

The wind picked up and the flame reared into something massive.  The soldiers ran for their wagon and whipped the horses into a panicked gallop. 

Only then did Antonio and the crew join João on his walk back to Kayma, which was safely shrouded in a thick smoke, protected by their moat.  The wind brought with it clouds which boiled themselves into a frenzy above.  Rain came, sizzling at the fire, until the bouncing drops themselves spread the flames.  Still, the waves quieted down into a quiet smoulder.

“That was pretty awesome,” Antonio said, all smiles.

“Probably not over,” João said.  “But we know this land better than they ever will.” 

They reached the rooftops.  People sat out as if sunbathing, to catch the cool drops on their skin.  Everywhere, basins collected the water.  It would probably rain for a few hours; they needed the water for the week, otherwise they’d have to travel to haul it in from the mountains.

The boys gathered around João, shouting and wrestling to vie for his attention.  A few still waved their sticks of fire over the squabble.

“Oi,” he said.  Even though his voice was quiet, the boys halted, silenced to listen.  He plucked one of the sticks from their hands and threw it into a cooking basin.  “Don’t play with fire in our home,” he said.

The rest followed his example.

He grabbed one boy into a headlock and thoroughly ruffled his hair.  He wasn’t gentle, but the affection was in the attention.  “You all did good.”  He nodded with a slight smile. 

“They all look up to him,” Abel said with a nod of approval, he found a place to lounge against the side of one of the buildings.

Antonio took his place beside him.  “Who knows how in the world the two of us came from the same stock.  But I’m very proud of him…”

“You’re not a complete letdown yourself,” Abel muttered, “You and him are a lot alike.  I just think you’re also part idiot.”

Antonio laughed, “I’ll take that as a sorta-compliment, I think…”

A young girl came pounding along across the tops of the buildings, weaving a circular path, pigtails flying behind her.  When she stopped, in front of Antonio, her skirt bloomed around her.  It was probably once very beautiful fabric, but now it was charred at the ends and as dirty as her bare feet.  Still she grinned and presented him with a little bird.  “Message,” she said.

Francis steadied her by putting his hands on her shoulders.  “Good evening, Chelles.”

Antonio scrambled to his feet.  “Hey, that’s Gilbert’s bird—“

She’d already unfastened the message so that she could play with the bird.  It hopped along her shoulders and across her arms when she held them out.

Antonio read quietly, brows pinching together.  “What in the _world…?”_

Abel also stood.  “Hmm?”

“How is it that we let those two go unsupervised for barely two weeks and somehow they’re plotting to overthrow the king…?”

Abel snatched the message away and read for himself.  “Damn.  They’ve got balls.”

“And brain-rot…” Antonio said with a frown.  “God I told them to stay _safe_.  How in the world did they even--?”

Belle pressed her lips in a thin line and looked back and forth.  She pulled Abel’s sleeve.  “Careful,” she said.

He nearly leapt from his skin.  “You spoke…?”

She nodded.  The words were difficult.  Her throat and tongue felt thick.  “Been…practicing.  At night.”  She pointed to João.  “We speak.”

He nodded a bit, almost seeming hurt.

“Surprise,” she said with a shrug, like it was nothing.  She pointed to the room.  “Don’t trust Roderich,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Never trusted that snake,” Abel agreed.

“Been sending messages,” she managed.  “Birds.”

“Shit,” Abel muttered, glancing around for the ex-noble.  “This is what we get for unconditionally trusting just anyone who wants to join our crew.  Antonio has meat for brains.” 

Belle shrugged again.  “Second chances.”

“Thieves are more trustworthy than ex-nobles, apparently though,” Abel said.  He kept a calm expression and smoked.  “I’ll take care of him myself,” he said, “because if he gets wind of whatever the hell Lovino and Gilbert are doing, then it’s the end for them.  Don’t want to see the kid be cut down like that.”

“You care,” Belle said.

“In spite of myself,” Abel said, “I care about a lot of people.”

“I know,” she said.  The words started coming easier.  She knew she was safe here among this band of thieves.  Maybe she was confined to a deck most of the time, but she had never been so free.  She no longer had to look over her shoulder; she no longer felt phantom stabs of pain along raised scars.  She kissed his cheek, pleased that he stared off into the distance, as if willing his cheeks not to blush.  They didn’t, but the tips of his ears turned red.  “There is something I need Antonio to know,” she said.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Something about Lovino.  But you’ll have to tell him.  I…”  she swallowed a bit, “I’m not sure if I can speak to everyone yet.  It’s still hard.  And maybe my silence is advantageous.  Roderich doesn’t…tiptoe around me.  Because he thinks I can’t tell on him.  He’s very smug about it.”  She scowled at the ground.  “Should punch him in the jaw.”

“A little violent, but I get the sentiment,” Abel said.  “If you tell me, I’ll relay the message.  I might even go back and call Roderich a horse’s ass on your behalf as well.”

Belle slapped a hand to her mouth, muffling a quiet snicker.

He quietly wrapped one arm around her shoulder, looking away as he did so, and gave a tight squeeze.  “I’ll get on that.  And you’re surprisingly shrewd.  It’s something to be admired.”  He released her.  “But let’s find a rooftop out of earshot and talk about Lovino.”

They moved to the uppermost layer of roofs and, after doing a quick check of all the windows, sat again.  The wood was a little slippery from rain, especially because there was nothing hanging over them.  They allowed the drops to pelt them, thankful for a cool reprieve from the summer heat.  For a few minutes, they watched the fire slowly curl in on itself, persisting on but only as embers. 

“So…Lovino,” Abel prompted.

Belle struggled through a sudden knot in her throat.  She steadied herself against Abel’s shoulder, scowling in frustration as she tried to choke through a few words.

He placed a hand on her arm until she calmed down.  “Breathe,” he said.  “I don’t do mouth to mouth.”

She managed a little laugh at that and, much more at ease, started tracing along the raindrops running down her calve.  “The ring.”

“Which ring?”

“Rubies,” she answered.

He knew immediately and nodded.  “Okay, yes, that’s still in Roderich’s possession.”

“Rare, yes?”

He nodded.  “Rubies are the rarest stone.  Worth a fortune.  Should have sold that damn thing.  Antonio has been bitching about needing to make repairs and all that on the ship.”

“Found Lovino on the streets,” she said, “I was out…walking.”

The way she said walking, Abel knew exactly what she meant.  He hid a small frown.

“First instinct was to shoo him away.  It was a bad part of town.  Kids need to be safe at home with their mothers.  He was…eleven?  Twelve?  But homeless,” she said.  She allowed herself enough of a pause to catch her breath again, watching the rain bounce from the shingles and drip into the levels below.  “And bleeding, which is why I took him in.  Hands covered in blood too.  Dripping from his nose and ears.  Trauma, I guessed.  Could barely speak.  Kept hacking it up.”

Abel winced a little bit.  “Sounds like he’d been through an ordeal.”

She nodded, “Wouldn’t answer my questions.  Kept sobbing for someone and staring at his hands.”  She chewed at the cuticle of her pinky.  By then her hair hung in wet clumps around her ears.  She brushed it aside, thinking harder.  “There wasn’t much I could _do_.  Taking him into the—into the…home was dangerous.  Found an alley I sometimes hid in.  Made it comfortable enough.”  She heaved a bitter mix between a sigh and a laugh, “I guess it was like playing pretend.  I had a child to take care of.  We pretended that the alley was an actual home.  But I couldn’t _feed_ him much.  I didn’t control where my money went.”

Abel stopped her with a light touch to her shoulder.  He focused on the staccato tap of rain and breathing in a heavy mix of damp air and smoke.  “Okay.  But why is this important to tell Antonio?”

She blinked.  “Right.”  She’d picked the skin around her cuticles until they bled.  “The first night.  He acted really strange.  Kept _repeating_ things to me like he expected me to do something.  He kept talking about that ruby ring, even tried drawing out the symbols into the dirt.  Kept saying something like ‘he’s in my head, he’s in my head, get him out’ over and over again.  I thought maybe it was because of the trauma…but he just kept begging me to ‘get him out’.”

Abel shuddered a little bit.  “Someone in his…head?”  Even he could not remain stoic at the idea.

She shook her head.  “The next day he didn’t remember a thing.  Like…he was a kid again.  A confused kid, but still just a kid.  It’s like he didn’t even question why he was in an alley, nor would answer any questions about where he came from.  He looked at me funny when I called him by the name he gave me the day before, then kind of just accepted it.”  She shrugged, gnawing on the inside of her cheek, brows raised.  “So, I helped him become a thief, because how else was he going to have food to eat?  And we took care of each other for those years.”

Abel nodded slowly.  He was having a hard time getting his cigar to light, so he gnawed on the end.  His hair had flattened in the downpour.  He swore, trying to push it out of his eyes.  “So you’re worried that there…is something wrong with him.  And not just the result of trauma.”

“The ring turned out to exist,” Belle said.

Abel stood, drawing his cloak closer around his shoulders.  “I will speak to Antonio in private.  You…you need to keep an eye on Roderich.”

Belle nodded.  “That…I will gladly do.  Lovino is my family.  I would do anything to protect him…”

“Not sure what Roderich is in this for,” Abel admitted with a little shrug.  “Maybe if Gilbert’s letter had been more _thorough_.”  Bemused, he led her down the ladder back to the level where everyone was still lounging about beneath overhangs.  He tapped Antonio’s shoulder and pulled him roughly to his feet.

“There are nicer ways of asking people to walk with you,” Antonio said.  He set down the tankard he’d been given.  It sloshed half full.

“Right,” Abel muttered.  “Don’t drink too much wine.  No one likes you when you’re drunk.  Meet me later on the ship.”  He left him there.

Antonio pursed his lips as Abel disappeared off.  He walked in that direction too, but found himself hooked around the neck, João’s knuckles digging into his skull.

“Having a face like a frog doesn’t suit you,” João said.  There was alcohol on his breath. 

He released Antonio, allowing him a moment’s reprieve to straighten his hair, wincing.  Antonio coughed a little bit, “You have an odd way of showing affection, brother.”

João shrugged, “Have to keep you all on your toes.”  Gilbird now sat on his shoulder, much to the dismay of Chelles, who now sat on Francis’s lap, chatting with him about the day’s events at full speed.

“I am always on my toes,” Antonio said, this time managing a sad smile. “Unfortunately I think I overbalanced, and now I’m on my face.”

“Okay, maybe the wine was a bad idea,” João teased, pinching his shoulder.  He was in a rare good mood after the burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  Finally he could protect his village the way that he needed to. 

Antonio shrugged a little bit, “I just have a bad feeling is all.”

“About…?  Because if it’s about this village, you know that I have more than one trick up my sleeve.  Never played by the rules.”

“Neither have I,” Antonio agreed.  “It is not you who I doubt.  It’s unrelated.  A personal matter.”

João nodded.  “We may have been estranged.  I might have resented you for the path you chose.  But we _are_ still brothers.  Come to me for help if you need to.  My door is and always will be open.”  He pinched him again for good measure.

Antonio yelped and swatted at him, but he’d already ducked into the window of his house and drew down the blinds.  He rubbed at his arm; that was definitely going to leave a mark.

He waited a full twenty minutes, milling about, water dripping into his eyes when he stepped out from under the overlap of roofs.  He understood from the intense look Abel had given to him that this was a matter of secrecy.  He made sure he wasn’t followed.

Abel sat smoking in the bridge, a towel still draped over his head.

Antonio plopped down in a second chair.  He smacked at Abel’s boots until he removed them from the wheel.  The other leaned forward in his seat.

“You decided to show up,” Abel said.  “Let’s make this somewhat quick.”

“Okay…?” Antonio said.  “Exactly what are we discussing?  Is this about the note…?”

“I’ve always been very forward and very direct,” Abel said, “So.  Partially.”  He tossed his head a bit, continued scrubbing at the back of his neck, then dropped the towel to the floor.  He picked it up and absently folded it on his lap.  “You are not pleased with the letter,” he started.

Antonio’s mouth fell open.  He snapped it shut.  “Of course I’m not _pleased_.  I told them to stay _safe_ not dismantle the damn monarchy.”

“You’re drunk,” Abel pointed out.

“No more than I was before you called this meeting,” Antonio said, “I’m frustrated.”

“And drunk,” he repeated.

“They requested back-up from afar.  Like on-call back-up.  They’ve bitten off more than they can chew,” Antonio continued.  “The last thing I want to do is watch them cut Lovino down.”

“So all that stuff about family was actually bullshit?” Abel asked, one brow raised, “Look.  I never sugar-coat.  The only reason I stick around is to call out your bullshit, because who the hell else would?”

Antonio shoved up from his chair and paced.  He gripped his fingers to his forehead, shaking his head as he mumbled darkly.  “I don’t know what to do.  I kept our names obscure for a _reason_.  They were supposed to lie low.  I’m _afraid_ for them…and I don’t think my being there as opposed to here is going to make much of a difference.  You know how impossible it is to get into Volare.”

Abel shrugged a little bit.  “Perhaps it is.  And perhaps you’re an indecisive, timid idiot.”

Antonio’s grip tightened around one of the spokes of his wheel.  “Anything but.”

Abel scoffed.

That only sparked fury in the pirate.

Finally satisfied, Abel nodded.  “There’s the idiot who convinced me to tag along with his antics.”  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.  “Right.  Listen up.”  Carefully and quietly, he started telling Antonio just what Belle had told him.

As he spoke, Antonio’s expression turned from furious to uneasy.  “And you got this information where?”

“Where the hell do you think?  Belle and I have worked out a communication system.  She is afraid, and I trust _her_ , so you should be concerned as well.”  He stood, leaving the folded towel on the tabletop.  “Now that you have all the information, you need to make a decision.”  He left.

A few hours later, Antonio reappeared in his brother’s little apartment, watching several members of his crew struggle to light the firepit.  Someone had left it within the reach of rain and now the coals and wood were soaked through.  Accusations were thrown around, until Lili marched elsewhere to borrow more supplies from another rooftop.  She shook her head, eyes rolling, as she deposited it in their grill. 

“You all are hopeless,” she said.

Antonio and João spoke in the background of the din, which the rest managed to light the fire.  Meat smoked out in the fields that day were thrown on the grating to cook through again.  Francis had learned a dry rub from different herbs and spices, which he massaged into the meat.  In another pot, Chelles stirred a pot of molasses and sugars and other spices.

João put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder after they’d spoken a while.  “Go,” he said.  “Just don’t get killed.”

“That almost seemed heartfelt…”

“It was,” João said, shaking his head.  “You think I was pissed off at your antics before, then you better believe I’d be furious if you got yourself killed.”

Antonio smiled a little bit, “Okay, then the same goes to you.”  Finally Antonio stepped from the window.  “Crew, pack your things…we’re leaving.”

Every single face frowned at him.

He blinked and stared at the food, which was just starting to liven up, sizzling in its own juices.  A thick, smokey aroma hugged the air.

“Fine.  After dinner.”

This was met with a raucous cheer.

\--

Arthur and Alfred did return, but that was the last that Lovino saw of his brother after that.  He wondered if he was sulking somewhere, or if Arthur had threatened him in some way.  Still, there was no time to worry about it too much, because every twenty minutes or so Arthur thrust the same contraption in his hands and told him to power it.  Sometimes the power increased, sometimes decreased.  Lovino’s head began to spin faster than the gears themselves.

Pins and needles scattered his fingertips and down his legs.  He felt a strange static electricity hiding just beneath the surface of his skin, like a sneeze that would not come.  Breathing heavily, he leaned against Gilbert as he worked.  The robot itself resembled a human more and more by the hour, until he’d laid out the last piece of the arm, scattered as plates and bolts still, but in the loose outline.  He’d focused more so on the circulatory system, and a central box of gears—as large as his head and _heavy_ —which he connected to a series of rods, gears, and miniature pulleys.

Alfred helped him jot down notes and started to bolt pieces together.  Every so often he’d grease the joints, flexing and extending them, rotating the wrist, humming as he did so.  Gilbert would nod, then hand certain parts off to Arthur to alchemize together.  This he did so with a small groan, impatient about being interrupted from his primary task.

Eventually a servant came around with rations.  He left it by the door, bowing low as he backed out.  Alfred shook his head, “Told him not to _do_ that…”

Arthur shrugged and surveyed their progress.  “Well, it’s been four days, and I think we’re getting pretty far.”

Gilbert nodded, “We’ll have to see if it _works_ is all, but I’ve been taking copious notes.  I think…once we get over this hurdle, the rest should be fast enough if we assembly line it.”  He kept his mouth shut about his and Lovino’s plan.  Although he knew he could trust Alfred to some extent, he’d heard Arthur’s warnings about stepping out of line.  Could he be trusted as an ally?  Disapproval he could deal with, but if that turned into _meddling_ then…

They divided out the rations.  It ended so that each had a chunk of bread, a little cheese, and some dried, salted meat.  Also provided was a basket of apples from the orchids on the palace grounds.  Gilbert sank his teeth into one.

“I swear, I eat better in captivity than in my day to day life.”

Lovino nodded.  “Yeah, the fuck is that about.”

Arthur barely picked at his food.  Instead, he stared darkly at his meter and grumbled to himself.  He was running out of ideas.  “I’m not sure what else I can do about this…”

Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Well, for _starters_ , you could take a break and _actually_ eat, Art.  You’ll figure all that other stuff out.  You always do!”

Arthur just sighed, but he did set down his machine to take a hearty bite of the bread.  It was fluffy and chewy all at once.  “Some jam would have been nice.”

Lovino scooted a little clay jar to him.

Alfred laughed long and loud.  “Wow, there’s actually jam?  It’s like the King’s evil tactic is making it impossible for Artie over there to complain about anything!”

Shaking his head, Arthur shoved him over.  “If that were the case, he’d have done something about you.”

Insufferable as he was, Alfred only batted his eyes and puckered his lips, pretending to make a grab for Arthur, who scooted away.  “You only say that because you _loooove_ me!”

“Hardly,” Arthur grumbled, pushing him away once he got too close.  “Don’t you have food to inhale?  Go do that, you dolt, and leave me _be_.”

It was Ludwig that was sent to retrieve them by the end of the week, and he stood awkwardly at the doorway, not sure where to look or what to do with his hands.  He settled with clasping them firmly behind his back until the knuckles turned white.

He cleared his throat when no one looked up. 

Gilbert was the first to glance.  His gaze hardened.  “Oh.  It’s you.”

Ludwig’s jaw tightened.  “King William wishes to note your progress.  You are to bring whatever finished product you have, and I will escort you there.”

“You know, I’m not sure you will,” Gilbert snapped, “because the last time you offered to _escort_ me anywhere, I ended up tied to a train while Lovino was dragged off to your damn floating prison.”

“We don’t have time for this right now, brother,” Ludwig said.

Behind him, Arthur had already started gathering up the robot, which was completely assembled.  Between him and Alfred, they carried it over their shoulders, like they were helping a drunk man limp along.

Gilbert’s scowl darkened.  “It’s not a conversation we need to have.  Because I don’t want to hear whatever lame excuses you have.  It was always family first.  Always.  You and me against this fucked up world.”  He stepped forward to jab his finger into his chest.  He was a couple of inches shorter, but he stood his ground.  “Do you know the ridiculous bullshit sacrifices I had to make for you growing up?  And this is how you repay me?  A knife to the back?  No thank you.  I already said, you are no brother of mine.”  He pulled Lovino to his side, walking past.

The robot groaned and rattled as Arthur and Alfred followed behind.  Ludwig took the rear, back stiffer than before.  He pressed his mouth into a thin line.

They walked in unbearable silence.

The king was waiting in his throne room.  The juice from a peach dribbled down his chin, but as he sat up, he wiped it with a piece of cloth.  He hovered over the machine, not daring to touch but fascinated.  Alfred and Arthur gradually laid it out for him.

“Well?” he asked.  “Does it work?”

“…We haven’t had time to test it,” Gilbert said, “It’s the…it’s the prototype.”

“And you’ve only made _one?”_

“Designing takes time,” Gilbert said simply.  He dropped the book he’d been writing notes in.  It slapped against the table.

The king blinked.  “Where did you get that book?”  He opened it with strange familiarity to the page where the robot schematics had been scrawled on.  He nodded in approval at the changes, humming quietly to himself.

“I found it,” Gilbert said, “A museum.”  He watched him carefully.  An uneasy chill crept up his spine. He held Lovino even closer.

“Very well, fair enough,” The king said.  He rubbed his hands together and practically pranced back over to the robot.  “So, can the kid power it or not?”

“Tentatively,” Arthur said, swallowing. 

Gilbert reluctantly released Lovino so that Arthur could guide him to the robot. 

“You ready?” Arthur asked him.

Lovino nodded with an uneven intake of breath.  He took the contraption from Arthur’s hands and placed it like a dome over the chest of the robot, where the ‘heart’ was contained.  Leaning over, he gripped at the top, hissing as he shoved his power through the metal.  Gears ground into motion.  The metal became hot.

The robot jerked as if in a seizure.  Oil burned. 

Drained, Lovino released the contraption just as the robot wheezed and screeched upright.  Gilbert made a mental note in the back of his mind to apply more lubricant to some joints—but lost it in the excitement as his creation climbed to its feet.  Its balance was a little off—more mental notes—but it adjusted its stance.

The king finally let out a long, low whistle.  “This is…this is _amazing_.”  He hurried over to shake Gilbert’s hand, ignoring the way he recoiled, jaw set.  “This is—“

“The prototype,” Gilbert said, rubbing his hand against his pant leg then twisting his fingers into Lovino’s.  Lovino leaned against him to ward of the black spots dancing in his vision.  He groaned a little bit, but tightened his free fist, his command silent, but sparking through the air and snapping the robot into attention, like a true soldier.

With a startled outburst, the king clapped his hands again.  “And it’s…sentient?”

“In theory,” Gilbert said.  “But, Lovino isn’t strong enough for an entire army of these.  Powering just one has drained him.”

As he finished speaking, the robot slumped to the floor again.  The power that Lovino had supplied it was only an initial spark, which fizzled out.  He would need to provide a stronger surge of energy if the robot was to sustain itself for any period of time. 

Rather than disappointed, the king was nothing but delighted.  Fervently, he muttered through a list of possibilities, then looked to Arthur as if the answer was obvious.  “Fix the kid, then.”

“I’m sure it’s out of my abilities.  I do _alchemy_.  That’s more working with materials than the human mind, especially with powers I don’t _understand_.”

The king blinked.  “Then find someone who _can_ solve this problem.  Just be careful you don’t render yourself obsolete.”

Arthur frowned.  Alfred took his hand behind his back.  It was clammy.

The king continued to pace.  He looked at Gilbert, “I am going to assume you will want help building the rest of the army.  I will grant it.  The factory upstairs, as I like to say, has plenty of workers who need something better to do with their time than slack off. I will turn it into my little production area.  These notes are detailed enough that with a few engineers supervising, everything will run smoothly.”

Gilbert thought back to the kid he’d met on the Fourth Tier.  The conditions on that island were harsh enough without the extra workload.  Then, he was reminded of the little boys at the mines in Kayma.  Told to meet a certain output demand beyond their abilities.  Would this new task push the factory workers into a similar situation? 

He had to remind himself that this was all for the best.  Things got worse before they got better.  _You don’t know it, but it’s for the best_ , he thought grimly.

He jolted from his reverie as the king snapped his fingers at Ludwig.  “Bring Feliciano.”

Ludwig stiffened.  “He is not necessary for this—“

“Bring Feliciano,” the king repeated.

Ludwig tightened his fists but left.

The king waited calmly, drumming his fingers along the tabletop until the tap of shoes alerted him to Feliciano’s arrival.  He stood beside Ludwig, not seeming small or diminished even beside the tall soldier.  He was not afraid, just resigned.

The king pointed to Lovino.  “You are responsible for this, are you not?  His power limitations?”

Feliciano stood his ground but nodded.  “I am.  Does it anger you?”

Ludwig put a hand on Feliciano’s shoulder.  A silent warning. 

“I should have known,” The king said.  “You have never made anything easy and so you continue to sabotage me.  I do not know which of you I should punish--you or the soldier who is so desperate to protect you.  Which would make you cry the loudest, I wonder?”

Gilbert looked between Feliciano and Ludwig, noting the tense body language between them and the way that Ludwig’s eyes spelled desperation for the punishment though he could not interrupt the king.

Guilt welled up inside him.  _So this is what he meant._   With a shaky breath, Gilbert took a few steps forward, overtaking the two so that he stood between them and the king.  “It was done when he was a child.  It was not willing sabotage and punishing him will fix nothing.  Let Arthur and me work out our solution.  We’ll either help Lovino regain his memories, or find someone who can break the block.”

The king raised both eyebrows.  “Did you have someone in mind?”

“Lukas Bondevik—“ Arthur blurted out.  “He’s gained a lot of prestige in the past few years as a healer and alchemist.”

The colour drained from Gilbert’s face.  There was no way that Lukas would agree to help them, especially in light of Mathias’s fate.  The hell was Arthur playing at—or was he really that dense?         

Alfred’s expression spelled out all of Gilbert’s concerns two-fold.

But the king seemed pretty pleased, as he turned away, musing quietly to himself.  “Hm, he lives outside the city limits, does he not?  I have heard of his reputation as a great healer who cures diseases previously thought incurable.  That would be _convenient_ …”

“I know where to find him…” Gilbert said after some thought.  “But I doubt he’d agree to help.”

The king waved his hand.  “Of course he will agree.  Go fetch him.  I will arrange a ship for you and Kirkland to leave at dusk.  You are to return within the week.”  He retreated into his back hallway, toward where his chambers were.  The door was a heavy wall which slammed into place, an unbreakable barrier operated by a pulley system.  He took the book with him.

“Well shit.  What kind of fucked up corner did you just back us into?”  Gilbert did not look at Arthur as he spoke.

“The only corner I could think of,” Arthur said.  “I don’t think you realize how fine a line that we walk here.”

Gilbert kicked at the robot.  Though it echoed inside, the strike did not leave a dent.  He groaned and gestured to Lovino, shouldering past Ludwig.  “I’m still pissed,” he growled at the soldier.

Ludwig watched him leave, snatching up Feliciano and pressing him to his body more for his own comfort than the other’s.  “God that was so close…”  He felt weak.

Lovino followed Gilbert at a jog to keep up with the pace he tore through the hallways.  “Wait, you’re…you’re leaving the Third Tier?  You’re leaving me here?”

Gilbert groaned a little, “I guess so.”  He only stopped once they were in the little room that they shared with Alfred and Arthur, tiny barracks outfitted with two sets of bunk beds.  Gilbert sank onto his mattress.  “It’s not my choice and personally I think it’s going to blow up in our faces.”

Lovino sat beside him.  “This Lukas guy…won’t help?”

“Of fucking course he won’t help,” Gilbert snapped.  He realized his tone was harsh then licked his lips, looking away until he could smooth his expression into something gentler.  “Maybe the best we can do is get advice for your powers.  That’s all I’m thinking.  But I’ll be back as soon as I feasibly can.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lovino promised.  “I’m not afraid.”  He thought a moment, tracing across Gilbert’s knuckles absently.  They were stained with oil, greasy.  “I will ask Feliciano to tell me as much as he knows about me.  Maybe it’ll all jog my memory.”

Gilbert pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “Just be careful.”

Lovino scowled, “Should say the same thing to _you_.  Asshole.”

Gilbert only chuckled.  “I’m beginning to think your insults aren’t really insults but terms of endearment.”

“The hell?”  Lovino flicked him in the face, “Who the fuck ever heard of asshole as a petname?”

“You, apparently.”  He pecked his lips this time, expression still solemn.  “It’s how I know I’m talking to you and not an imposter.  You started calling me ‘honey’ or some shit, I’m running the other way.”

This earned a quiet snicker.  Lovino’s hand found the crook of Gilbert’s elbow and pried his arms open so he could crawl into his lap.  He kissed him long and slow, fists locked into the collar of his shirt like he was afraid to let go.  When their lips parted, hovering only inches apart, Gilbert realized he was on his back with Lovino over him.  He laughed nervously.

“Giving me something to think about?” he finally asked, reaching up to brush Lovino’s bangs from his eyes.

“It’ll make you come back faster,” Lovino said with a little huff, pecking his lips again.  Lazy fingers scratched circles into his scalp.

 Gilbert finally felt himself smiling despite the anxiety twisting inside him.  “Goddamit, you complete me.”

“Don’t be corny,” Lovino mumbled. 

Gilbert smirked a little bit.  “You like it.  Admit it!”

“Hell no!”  He tugged sharply at Gil’s hair, just enough to make him wince, then resumed his impromptu head massage.

Gilbert closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the warm weight of his lover and his ministrations, until he realized, with a long groan, that the day was already waning and that he had a ship to catch.  Carefully taking Lovino’s wrists in his hands, he sat up, pulling his arms down into his lap so he could kiss him with as much desperation as he could muster, like he wanted to memorize every sensation, every movement, every little gasping moan.

He parted breathlessly, automatically wiping a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth, unashamed. 

“Yes, right, I see I’m interrupting something here—“

Both turned.  Arthur stood in the doorway, a bag in his hand.  Silently he walked past to grab a few supplies from his own bed.  “We need to be at the dock.”

Gilbert released Lovino.  “You could have _knocked_.”

“To my own room?”  Arthur scoffed a bit and finished packing up.  “No, no, don’t mind me.  By all means continue.”

Alfred poked his head in.  “Looked like it was getting _steamy!_   Is that the window fogging up?”  He let out a low whistle and waggled his eyebrows. 

“Fuck off—“ Lovino muttered.  “We weren’t selling _tickets_ you know.  Damn perverts.”

Alfred just grinned, but yelped when Arthur pinched his ass.  Hard.

“Behave yourself while I’m gone,” he growled.

Rubbing his rear, Alfred threw a salute in his direction.  “Wouldn’t dream of causing trouble in your absence.”  His eyes took on a glossy sadness when Arthur left without a further word.  He watched Gilbert kiss Lovino one last time and turned away to stare out the window with a little sigh.

Gilbert’s goodbye to Lovino was more of a promise to return soon.  Although the thief tried to scowl through it all, he shook just as much as Gilbert did.  They trusted each other, but there were a hundred and one paranoia-fed worries spinning in either of their heads.

The docks were covered with soldiers, most at ease, though an entourage of five or six led Gilbert and Arthur out past the heavy gate and out toward the ship.  They secured the door, only three boarding, sitting in stony silence, hands tight around their spears.

Arthur chuckled to himself.  “It’s been so long since I’ve had an opportunity to leave Volare.  This will be a welcomed change of scenery over that dreadful castle.”

“God, I just worry about leaving Lovino there…”

“He’s safer than we are,” Arthur reminded him.  “Always has been, always will be.  We are expendable.  He is not.”

Gilbert shrugged.  He could feel the ship sinking down through a layer of mist.  It moved too slowly for his taste.  He considered making conversation to ease the burden of awkward silence.  “So…you and Alfred--?”

“There’s nothing there,” Arthur said, too quickly.  He stared at the floor.

“Nothing?”  Gilbert blinked, lips pursed.

“We’ve fooled around, not that it’s any of your business,” Arthur said, “but it’s always been…I’ve always felt guilty afterward, so then it just turns into unbearable silence and neither of us knowing how to act around the other.  Ideal sex should be no strings attached, no feelings involved, and yet there’s _something_ uncomfortable there.”

Gilbert shrugged a little bit, almost regretting opening up this can of worms.  He wondered if he should change the subject or allow Arthur to speak more about it. 

Arthur continued of his own accord, “It’s not like I don’t _want_ anything to be there.  But I don’t want to be the one who sticks the bird in a cage.”

“Have you ever asked him what _he_ wants?” Gilbert asked. 

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t bring up such conversations with him.  But he’s made it pretty clear himself.  Foolish boy with his confessions.  But…I just don’t see how it could work.”  He went as far as to tap the tip of one of the soldiers’ spears.  “What would he possibly want with someone like me anyway?  His calling has always been the skies, whether in his plane or with his damn empty head in the clouds.  If he’s an eagle, then I’m nothing but a stuffy old pigeon.  I’d never be able to keep up.  It’d end poorly and we’d both hurt more than we do now.”

Uneasy, Gilbert chuckled a little.  “Give yourself more credit than _that_ , you’re at _least_ a sparrow.”

The scathing look that Arthur gave him warned Gilbert to shut his mouth.  They spent the rest of the trip in absolute silence.


	14. The Voice in his Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goddammit, Lovino
> 
> ps. I'm very self conscious about this story pfft.

Feliciano found Ludwig sitting alone out in the garden, off duty now that night had fallen.  The island was cradled in a net of clouds that sank like a thick ocean below them.  Above, however, the stars started to fade into hundreds of constellations, growing brighter in the quiet of a steady breeze and the smell of grass around him.

Ludwig tried to appreciate it, but the stars glowered at him with silent judgment.  Guilt gnawed at his very core.

The rustle of grass alerted him to Feliciano’s approach.  He half leapt to his feet, fists balled, but dropped them when Feliciano raised his hands, keeping his eyes averted as always.  “It’s just me,” Feliciano murmured.

Ludwig nodded, “I’m sorry.  I’m on edge.”  He settled back onto the ground, his fingers curling into the grass none too gently, like he could anchor himself down.

Feliciano leaned against him with a little sigh.  “I told you to speak with your brother.”       

“You fail to realize how pointless that would be,” Ludwig said, “What’s done is done.  I have bigger concerns.”

Feliciano threw his hands up, but bit his tongue, breathing carefully so he didn’t yell.  “Ludwig.  If you could _hear_ yourself.”  He groaned.  “I don’t know how to make you understand that I don’t _want_ this,” Feliciano said.  He felt Ludwig stiffen under him, but made a grab for his hand.  He held tight.  “You have to pick a side.  My side or the king’s side.  Because I am not or ever will be on the king’s side.”

Ludwig swallowed and looked away. 

“Grow a backbone,” Feliciano said.  His words felt sharp even to him.  “Not everything is black and white.  Being the king’s little dog isn’t the answer and it sure as hell isn’t going to set me free.  You’ll lose everything if you continue this way.  Work _with_ my brother and yours.  They aren’t going to just sit around and let the king use them as tools.  That’s where I’m putting my loyalty, and if you’re so hellbent on following me, then you have to follow me all the way.”  He sighed a little bit and loosened his grip on Ludwig’s hand, finally realizing how deeply his nails dug into his skin.  He frowned a little bit.

“I swore an oath as a soldier…” Ludwig said.  He spoke quietly, like he was trying to avoid too much emotion.  In that, he was more vulnerable than Feliciano had ever seen him before.

“Your oath was to uphold the values of the kingdom, to ensure peace and prosperity,” Feliciano said, “I think the king has long since broken his own oath.  You are no longer _bound_ because he is no longer worthy of good men like you.  And you definitely aren’t _bound_ into a service of protecting me.  Because if you truly loved me, we would stand side by side and fight together.  You seem to forget that I can hold my own.  I can _rip_ men apart—“ he shuddered deeply, teeth chattering just slightly.  “Can and _will_ if I need to.”

Ludwig made a noise deep in his throat. 

He allowed Feliciano to gather him up into his arms and just hold him, stroking at his arm as he stared up at the sky.  “Remember your oath to _me?”_ Feliciano finally asked, breathless at the constellations peppering the sky.  “We’d start a life somewhere, have a home, adopt children…somewhere that we could see the stars.”  He started teasing through Ludwig’s hair, easing it out of its strict organization where he’d gelled it back.

“I do remember…” Ludwig said.  “I think about it a lot.”

“Then fulfill your promise,” Feliciano said.

Ludwig nodded against his chest, closing his eyes.  “I have to take you to your cell soon…” he muttered. 

“Let me look at the stars just a little longer,” Feliciano said. 

“A few minutes more,” Ludwig conceded.

Feliciano continued to stroke the soldier’s hair, lost in the haze of galaxies that suddenly made him feel so small.  He hummed a little bit to himself, keenly aware that the other’s ear was pressed to his heart, right above the scar that marked the wound that almost took his life. 

 _How weirdly things worked out_ , he thought, keenly aware of his own pulse into his ears. 

He felt Ludwig shift against him then climb to his feet.  He allowed him to walk him back to the castle.

When they reached his cell, Ludwig helped Feliciano into his nightclothes and made sure his bed was properly fitted with its rough sheets—proper and neat, unlike the mornings when Feliciano woke half strangled in them.  Making sure he was comfortable, Ludwig bent down to kiss his lips.

Feliciano accepted this kiss, but captured his head in his arms so he could not pull away.  “Hm, Ludwig?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think there is such a thing as fate?  Or is everything pure coincidence?”

Ludwig blinked.  His lashes brushed against Feliciano’s forehead.  “I don’t—I don’t know.  I don’t like to assume that my actions mean anything in a greater scheme.  It’d make all my mistakes matter too much…Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Feliciano said.

Ludwig stood awkwardly at the door then dimmed the little oil lantern.  “I’ll return in a few hours.  There…are things I need to take care of.  Good night.”

“G’night, Ludwig,” Feliciano answered.  He buried his face into his pillow. 

\--

The soldiers escorted Arthur and Gilbert as far as the gates of the Grounded Tier, leaving them to stare at the knotted rope dangling off the face of the plateau deep into the mist below. 

“You couldn’t have taken us down another level on your blimp?” Arthur asked.

The first soldier shook his head with a little shrug, “Our orders were our orders.”  He and several others secured the gate with several variations of heavy chains.  They rattled with harsh finality. 

“And when we return?” Arthur asked, “Exactly how are we supposed to reenter the city?”

“There’s a shuttle you can pay for,” The soldier explained.  “And at the gate we’ll confirm if you have the healer and arrange the journey back to the Third Tier.”

“You’re fucking with us on purpose,” Gilbert muttered, “Making us climb 100 feet down on a ratty string?”

The soldier shrugged again, screwing his face into a sardonic smirk from behind the gate.  “Best of luck.” 

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with,” Gilbert said, easing himself off the cliff face to clutch at the first knot.  They were spaced apart comfortably enough that he was able to shimmy down from knot to knot, though the strain ached at his arms and blistered his palms. 

The rope swayed dangerously as Arthur mounted it as well.

Gilbert hissed and clung tightly.  “Be _careful_.”

“Excuse me for lacking experience climbing ropes,” Arthur muttered through grit teeth.  “This is undignified…”

“So is staring upwards at your ass,” Gilbert said.  He kept his eyes focused in front of him, lowering himself a few steps until his feet tentatively found the next knot.  He grunted as the rope slapped against the cliff-face in a sudden gust of wind.  Pain shot through his shoulder.  “Just don’t _fall_ , got it?”

Arthur slipped but caught himself, not before burning his palms on the rough fibers.  “ _Shit_.”

“What did I _just say?_ ”

They climbed for an eternity, it seemed, until the cold clung to their limbs and made their fingers numb.  Gilbert could not tell the difference between his own shivering and the shaking of aching shoulders.  His head pounded.  His knuckles bled where they scraped rock.  His palms were burnt raw.

“You doing okay up there?” He managed, panting heavily.

Arthur had slowed down considerably.  He was several body-lengths above Gilbert still. 

“Yes,” the other heaved.  He had to shout to be heard.  “How much…farther?”

“Hell if I know,” Gilbert called up.  “I can’t see a damn _thing_ below.  Beginning to think this fog would cushion my fall if I slipped.”

“Don’t even consider it,” Arthur said.

The rope twisted and swayed more dangerously than before, until Gilbert felt as if he’d puke from motion sickness.  Then, with a sensation like he’d missed a step, his foot brushed against nothing—no subsequent knot to catch his balance.  Clawing at the rope, he cried out, raw hands screaming as he scraped downward. 

His feet touched solid ground.  He stumbled, falling to his ass.  “H-holy shit…”

“Are you—are you alright--?”

Gilbert stared at where his palms bled.  He hissed, shoving them into the moss carpeting the ground.  The coolness soothed him.  “Yeah.”  He squinted upwards through the fog.  “You—you’re maybe twenty feet from the ground now, Arthur.”

“Bloody fucking _finally_ ,” Arthur groaned.  He climbed further, muttering darkly, then dropped the last five feet.  He thudded heavily into the moss and climbed to his feet.  “Your estimate was a bit low.”

“You’re fine,” Gilbert said.  “Didn’t break a leg.”

He looked up.  Even if there was no fog, he doubted he would be able to see the stars from here.  “We have to figure out a way to get our bearings.”

Arthur nodded and pulled a compass from his bag.  “Due North,” he said, tapping it before snapping it shut.  “Alfred gave this to me.”

“We’ll have to thank him later,” Gilbert said, just to have something to say.  They trudged on until the moss thickened into grass, which only grew sparse as bamboo staves filled out into a dense forest.  They knocked together like hollow chimes in a gust of wind that also rustled offshooting branches and leaves.

“He lives on the other side of this plateau, I think,” Gilbert said.  “I doubt it’s more than a few hours walk at the most.”

“On the edge?” Arthur asked.

“Boats,” Gilbert explained, gripping a thick bamboo pole for balance as he stumbled.  “House boats.  I’ve been there before.  He will _not_ receive our invitation well.”

“He’ll have to,” Arthur said. 

They found a little village in a clearing somewhere within the forest.  The houses here were dug into the ground--little holes covered with roofs, which were bamboo frames lashed together then covered in moss.  They seemed quaint, but Gilbert couldn’t see past the darkness of the tunnels.

“We might consider staying here for the night and getting a start early in the morning,” Gilbert said.  “We probably have four or five hours until sunrise.”

“Sounds like a good idea, but in the middle of this village?”

Gilbert shrugged and leaned against the one structure above the ground, a mossy circular well built from piled stones.  The handle creaked as he turned it, wincing as his hands lit new with pain, then grabbed the bucket to slurp at the water.  Arthur joined him.

When he’d finished, Gilbert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “It’s the best place for now.  You think they’d go violent on us?”

“Don’t know,” Arthur said.  “I suppose it’s a chance we’ll have to take.  Be prepared to fight if you need to.”  He settled down against the well and closed his eyes, one hand on his dagger.  “It’d be worth it just to get a few hours of rest anyway.”

“True, tomorrow isn’t exactly going to be an easy conversation,” Gilbert mused, also closing his eyes.  He was distinctly aware of just _how_ quiet this village was, past the layer of croaking frogs and raging wind.

\--

Feliciano did not awake to Ludwig’s return, but rather to the rough rattling of the door, followed by a heavy curse and the scratch of something against the padlock.  Something clicked.  The lock dropped to the floor with a heavy crash.  More curses.

The door scraped open.

Feliciano reached to rip the blindfold from his eyes, then realized with a start that he’d forgotten to wear it.  He crawled from his bed and inched toward the oil lamp, which had burnt out sometime in the night.  He ignited it with a little crank that struck two bits of flint together.  It flickered then crept up the wick.

He wheeled around to find himself face to face with his brother.

“L-Lovino—“

“I can’t sleep alone,” Lovino said.  “So shut up about it already.”  He lingered in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself, a blanket trailing down from one fist.  He frowned.

“I understand…” Feliciano said, gesturing him to his bed.  “You’re lucky that Ludwig hasn’t returned yet.  He doesn’t like to be woken up.”

“Well tell him not to show his stupid face here.  Not enough room for him,” Lovino said, taking a seat.  He flopped out over the entirety of Feli’s bed, never minding that the other had no space.

Feliciano nudged him aside just enough so he could curl up against him.  “Thanks for defending me earlier,” he said quietly.

Lovino grunted.

“I have nightmares about it a lot,” Feliciano continued, so quiet that his voice barely competed with the flutter of the oil lamp.  “It’s hard to live with.”

“I will only ever blame the king for whatever the hell it was,” Lovino said.

Feliciano sighed and wrapped his blanket around the both of him.  He rested his cheek against Lovino’s arm.

As if from a distant memory, Lovino felt completely natural taking his hand in his own.  Their fingers laced together.  He gave it a comforting squeeze.  “Feliciano?”

“Hm?”

“Is it possible for me to get my memories back?”

Feliciano shrugged a little bit, “Maybe.  I don’t expect they ever really _leave_ …they just get buried.  …Why?”

“I want you to…jog my memory,” Lovino said.  “Tell me as many stories as you can.  ‘M not going to be able to sleep without Gilbert _anyway_ so…I think my powers might return if my memory does.”

Feliciano nodded a little bit, “I, um, wouldn’t know where to _begin_.”  He laughed to himself, but it sounded as resigned as he felt.  “And there’s no guarantee, so please don’t get mad at me if it doesn’t help.”

“Wouldn’t,” Lovino said.

Feliciano hummed as he thought.  “You’re not even the first person whose memories I’ve erased.  It’s a pretty pathetic way to protect someone.  Make them forget.  Push them away.”  He dug the heel of his palm of one hand into one eye then turned just enough to stare up at the light cast on the ceiling.  “But you somehow found your way back to me and are somehow worse for it.  Isn’t that frustrating?”

“You’re not poison,” Lovino muttered, “So stop acting like we’ll all fucking die if we’re close to you.”  He huffed a little bit then nudged him.  “Stories.  Now.”

“Um, okay, then give me a topic,” Feliciano said.  He was thankful that Lovino could not see his tears, but he smiled past them anyway, determined to keep a brave face.

“Well shit,” Lovino muttered, “Our…mom?”

“Too painful,” Feliciano said.

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to remember _anything_.  Just keep to happy stuff…I know she’s probably…you know.”

Feliciano nodded.  “Okay.  Well, when we were like five…you used to want to help her bake pastry-bread all the time.”

Lovino leaned forward, eyes lighting up.  “Wait, seriously??”

“Yeah,” Feli continued.  “She’d mix it together but then she’d rip off a big chunk for you to knead, and you’d stand on a chair to reach the table.  You always ended up completely streaked with flour but she wouldn’t really mind.  Then she’d let you make your own little loaf and cook it.  I’d get so jealous because you had your own special bread, but I never wanted to put in the work!”

Lovino managed a little chuckle back, but inside he felt his stomach drop.  He tried to imagine a small kid kneading dough—tried to put himself in those shoes—but the image slipped away like water through his fingers.  He didn’t know how much of it was real or just a desperate imagination.  “What did…our mother look like?”

“Red hair,” Feli said.  “Very curly hair.  Dark eyes.  Always laughing.  That’s the best I can remember…she loved flowing dresses.”

Lovino could not picture her.  He also turned to stare at the ceiling.  It was hard to breathe.  “New topic.”

“Yeah?”

“Who was my best friend?”

“I’m…not sure,” Feliciano said, “You spent more time inside with Mamá in the kitchen or followed Papá in the vineyards.  You kind of picked a lot of fights.  Were pretty grumpy around most people.”

“Oh,” Lovino said.  “I guess I should have figured that.”  A few seconds ticked by, “Who was _your_ best friend?”

“You and I played together a lot,” Feliciano said with a little shrug.  “Chased each other around the house and over the fence and through the vineyard and out between the houses.  You used to try to climb trees and would get stuck up there until I went and found Papá to save you.”  He pressed his lips into a thin line.  “You did get jealous of me and another friend a lot.  An older boy by a few years.  Kind of an awkward kid.  Had a huge crush on me…but I guess I felt the same way.  You _hated_ him, oh my _gosh_.”

Lovino snorted a little bit.  “Good.  Sounds like a jerk.”

“I’m not sure if he could have been a jerk if he tried,” Feliciano said, “but he’d follow me around a lot and stumble through words and get embarrassed a lot.  And you’d try to hit him in the head with a broom til he left.”

“Doing my duty as an older brother,” Lovino said. 

“Hmm, I suppose so.  But he eventually had to leave,” Feliciano continued, “Circumstances with his family.”  He sighed a little bit but hesitated.  Lovino stiffened beside him, fingertips digging into his skin so hard that Feliciano yelped.  The sweat was sudden.  His hold became clammy.

“L-Lovino…?”

_Lovino saw him—a blond boy dressed in black.  It wasn’t family circumstances but a funeral.  A man with long blond hair—braided—had been buried to rest.  His death was an unsolved mystery—Lovino heard a voice, a woman’s voice that should have been bright and cheerful—_

_“It makes no sense—Murder doesn’t happen in Volare—even in the Grounded Tier.  What of the children?”_

_The boy stood so still, but his eyes were glossed over.  Lovino had wondered if he knew that he needed to cry—_

Feliciano lurched over on top of Lovino, shaking his shoulders.  He smacked at his cheeks until Lovino’s eyes focused.  “Lovino!”

“His father died,” Lovino managed. 

Feliciano blinked but released him.  “Yes…yes, he did.”

He grappled for snatches of the memory again.  He knew there was more.  He knew he could picture it in his head.

His eyes grew watery as he glowered into space.  “I think it’s time to sleep,” Lovino said, burrowing down into the covers with Feliciano.  He held just a little too tightly, but Feliciano allowed it, stroking at his brother’s hair until the other relaxed.

They drifted off uneasily.

_The boy would have to leave.  Feliciano wore a black apron, clutching his broom to his small body.  Lovino had watched it happen.  He’d seen the man fall from behind a wall from where he was crouched just out of sight.  The aroma of honeysuckle and vines tasted bitter._

_The man had a thick belt in huge hands.  It’d begun as a disciplinary beating.  His son had been out past his curfew, hanging around Feliciano in the fields.  He was silent through the beating, lip quivering, head down, until anger overruled self control and the man lashed out in fury.  The boy yelped._

_Feliciano ran toward the scene, pleading for him to stop.  The boy was sobbing, fists curled but body motionless.  He’d stand and receive his punishment._

_The whip cracked again._

_Feliciano cried out.  He fell as the belt slammed into his chest._

_Lovino screwed his eyes shut.  He opened them and the man was convulsing on the ground.  His head had slammed into the fence post, which splintered into a heavy, bleeding wound.  The pair had run away._

_Now the boy was on the docks.  He barely registered Feliciano approaching, hands behind his back, valiantly holding back hot tears.  Lovino hid behind his mother’s skirts.  He’d seen too much and the guilt burned white hot in him._

_“I’m sorry,” Feliciano had said.  He shook as if he’d rattle apart._

_The boy had opened his mouth to protest, but Feliciano kissed him on the cheek.  That was when his eyes glossed over and he stumbled back.  His hands flew to his temple as if he was blinded by an intense headache—_

_They’d ushered him onto the blimp without noticing a thing._

“You erased his memory.  That boy’s memory—“  Lovino realized he was talking to no one, the words gasped out half in his sleep, and Feliciano deaf to them in his own dreams.  “You killed his father…?”  A flash of white seared across his vision.  It felt like someone had heated a knife in the fire then stabbed at the space behind his eyes.  Then twisted.

It was all Lovino could do to keep silent, breath coming in gasps as he tumbled from the bed, thrashing against the sheets tangled about his limbs like a puppet fighting its strings.  He dry heaved there on the floor, but settled his cheek against the tile.  It was cool.  He focused on that as his fingers dug into the grout and bled.

“S’not what I had in mind,” he gasped.  His voice was cracked and weak.  “Happy memories, dammit…happy memories.”  Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes.  “Can’t even do _that_ , you fucking dumbass.”

“Gilbert,” he whined.  The shape breathing in the bed was not Gilbert.  But he knew he’d be okay if Gilbert took him and rocked him in his strong arms.  He’d bury his nose into his neck and anchor himself down with the smell of sweat and oil and metal.  “You had to fucking leave…”

He took level breaths, managing to curl up there on the floor.  It was uncomfortable but solid in the wake of unease that eroded away at reality.  He thought through several memories, faint ones, wondering if it was the product of recall or delirious dreaming. 

Had he ever swum at the lake with his brother?

Was there a fat black and white cat that followed him around?

Did he and his brother roll up the legs of their pants and prance around in vats of grapes to help make the wine?

It was all too much.

He felt the pressure grow, like water forcing itself out of a crack in a huge dam--like he’d shatter into a hundred pieces and the resulting flood would drown him.  He gasped through a few breaths but sat up.  Black blotted out half his vision.  He clawed at the side of the bed to get through a fresh wave of dizziness.

He went limp there, too exhausted to think much more but too anxious to drift off again.  In this way, he swam in and out of consciousness as half-formed memories twisted in his mind. 

He jolted awake.  “F-feli?”

His brother was still asleep.  He glanced at the door, convinced that the soldier had come back.  It was still shut tight.  The lamp burned low again.  In the half dark he could just barely see the palms of his hands.

“Okay, well shit, now I’m hearing things…” Lovino muttered.  He was considerably calmer, though still cold with sweat.  He kneaded at his forehead with his palms.  “Shit.”

He felt that peculiar sensation again, like his powers were leaking from his fingertips.  He touched at where he could see Feliciano’s ankle, as if to test them.  The other flinched a bit but slept on.  He’d been hunched over his pillow, but now he slept more calmly.

 _This filthy world needs to be destroyed_.

His heart skipped a beat.  “Who’s there?!”

He saw the reflection of fire coiled in the face of a ruby.  He blinked and it was gone. 

“I’m literally going insane,” Lovino whimpered, climbing to his feet.  He wavered but took a few steps.  “That’s not something I would think…It’s not me…”

_How do you know?_

He tasted blood, but when he wiped at his mouth his arm came away clean.  His teeth chattered.  “Because I _know_ me,” he muttered out loud.  He wasn’t sure if the voice was in his head—his own thoughts—or if he was hearing it.

_You know seven years of you.  What about the other twelve years?_

\--

Gilbert woke to the crunch of soft feet on the moss around him and the slosh of water from the bucket.  A petite man stood nearby, filling a container with a little hand scoop.  The other contained the pulp from bamboo rods, which looked like they’d been soaking for quite some time. 

“Oh shit,” Gilbert muttered.

The man glanced his way.  He wore a high collared blue silk robe, accented by gold trimming and frog-clasps down his front.  His pants were bunched at his knees, feet still dripping with water.  He’d been wading somewhere, but Gilbert couldn’t imagine where.  Dark eyes appraised him but then seemed disinterested.  He continued about his business, intense but methodical. 

“O-oi, do you think you could help us out?” Gilbert asked.  “Just with directions.”

The man paused again.  “I am able to.”

Gilbert hesitated when the man did not speak further.  He patted at Arthur’s shoulder to rouse him.  The other sat up, hair tousled.  “Okay, um, then _will_ you help us out?”

That brought a flicker of a smile to the man’s lips but he nodded.  “Who are you looking for?”

“A man named Lukas Bondevich,” Gilbert said, “I know he lives on the North-ish side of the island, off some cliffs in a community of boat houses.  I just need you to point me toward that place.”

The man considered this a moment then pointed.  His hand was swallowed in an overflowing rectangular sleeve.  He adjusted it and pointed again, expression just as solemn as before.  “Walk in that direction.  Do you seek a healer?”

Gilbert nodded, “Um, sort of.”

“The man has made a name for himself,” the other said simply.  He lowered his bucket onto the ground.  “This is the case in more ways than one.”  He shrugged to himself, a knowing glint in his eyes as he walked away, a bucket in either hand.  He ducked down into a tunnel beneath the nearest roof.

“Okay, that was weird,” Arthur muttered, “The locals here are odd.  That’s what I’ve heard.  Never bothered visiting this place before because of it,”

“They seem like an isolated group,” Gilbert said, “So they figured out the best way to survive.  Leave them be.”  He drank the remains from the bucket.  It ran down into his empty stomach, soothing it just long enough for him to unwrap a bit of bread and rip into it. 

Arthur followed his example and they walked on.

Gilbert realized just why the village man had his pants tied up.

Just outside the village, they sloshed through fields of water about knee height.  It wasn’t particularly thick, but it was sticky with heat and humidity, where the bamboo still grew and decomposed in its hold.

“This is appalling,” Arthur muttered.

“Not the kind of bath I wanted,” Gilbert agreed.

“Alfred would probably love this,” Arthur said.  He walked with abnormally high steps, as if that would help.  Gilbert caught his elbow when he nearly slipped.

“Thought you didn’t want to talk about Alfred,” he said, releasing him.

“Don’t be cheeky,” Arthur said.  “And you didn’t see anything.”

They waded like this until the water receded and they climbed back into the moss of the forest.  The bamboo began to thin out.

Arthur threw his nose into the air, inhaling deeply.  “Much better—“

“It’s going to rain,” Gilbert said.  He pointed to dark clouds shrouding the distance.  From here the rain looked like a solid haze.  “It’s already raining over there.  Look.”

“Hopefully we won’t get any of it.  I’m hardly dressed for a downpour at this point.”

“Hard to believe we’re on a rock halfway up a mountain.  Surprised the air here isn’t thinner.”

“Trees, I’d expect.” Arthur guessed.

Their conversation, though forced, made the trek easier.  They tumbled free from the last bit of forest out into dried grass already stamped into ankle-deep puddles.  Both were sweaty and gasping through humidity. 

Gilbert nearly cried from joy when he saw the colourful banners fluttering in the wind.  The little community was exactly how he’d left it a week or so ago, the boats bobbing up and down, a few people out and about scanning the horizon with telescopes, setting out tins to collect rainwater in. Kids ran recklessly from deck to deck, not fearing the fall below.  One grabbed at the figurehead of his family’s boat—a mermaid—and twisted around it to land on the other side.  The mother rebuked him harshly.

“This is…precarious,” Arthur said. 

“I’d pay to know who invented these boats,” Gilbert said, “And how the fuck they stay suspended.  It’s really really cool if you think about it!”

“I suppose,” Arthur said, “This is another place I’d love to take Alfred.” 

“Look, you _can_ make it work,” Gilbert shot back, “Because you obviously can’t go five minutes without _thinking_ about him.”

“I told you it’s none of your bloody business,” Arthur said.

Gilbert had already boarded a ship, awkwardly squeezing past an old boatwife who stared after him.  He chuckled, nervously, and gave a little wave.  “Sorry—“

He arrived at the boat he remembered belonging to Lukas and quietly knocked at the door.

No one answered.

He tried the handle.  Unlocked.  He pushed in.

The kitchen-front room was silent, but the wisp of smoke from a lavender candle on the table betrayed a recent presence.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Arthur murmured.

“There’s only a ninety-three percent chance that he’d murder us for breaking in,” Gilbert said.  “Really that’s quite low.”  His laugh was strained.  He pointed toward the door in the back.  “Maybe Mathias is there…”

“It’s not appropriate for us to disturb him,” Arthur said.  “And I’m worried about what I’d find.”

Gilbert’s hand had been halfway to the knob.  He lowered it with a little nod.  “Wouldn’t want to remember him any other way than crazy-ass fearless mercenary anyway…”

“With that damn insensible axe,” Arthur agreed.  “He and I were never formally introduced, but I remembered seeing him drag that axe around on more than one occasion.  Apparently he could wield it too, if Alfred is to be believed.”

Gilbert nodded fervently.  “Damn right he could.”

They both took a seat at the table, neither looking at each other, but eyes skimming the floor and ceiling.  Gilbert traced the grain of the wood absently.  On the countertop sat many jars, and partly mashed leaves seeped cloying pulp on a cutting board.  A mortar and pestle lay on its side, spilling out the crushed remains of various nuts.

“Always thought of him as an alchemist.  Knew he’d picked up healing, but didn’t think he’d gone all natural,” Arthur said.

“Apparently he’s good at it if people know of him.”

The boat rocked just enough that Gilbert clutched at the edge of the table.  Light slithered across the floor as the door fell open.

Lukas stood there, bushels of bamboo in his arms.  His face and upper body was flecked with mud.  His load tumbled from his arms into a little basket, which he set in the corner.  Finally, he turned on his visitors.  “I don’t accept company.”  Frantic eyes darted toward the door in the back. 

Arthur stood, hands up.  “We didn’t enter that room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Way to have common sense,” Lukas muttered.  He wavered on his feet, and Gilbert realized that he wouldn’t be able to fight them off if he tried.  “Get out,” he pointed to the door.  “Whatever help you’re here to request, I cannot offer it.”

Gilbert stood and helped him slump into his seat.  “Looks like you’re a captive audience.”

“S’that supposed to be funny?” Lukas growled.

“No, just that you could keel over any second,” Gilbert said, “And we’re not moving.”

“I could gut you,” Lukas said. 

Gilbert sighed.  “Maybe in a former life, but right now you’ll sit and listen.  A lot is at stake.”

“I don’t care,” Lukas said.  “And I never _will_.”  His body shook with a sudden chill.  He wrapped his cloak more tightly about himself with trembling hands.  “Try again three years ago.”

\--

In the earliest hours of morning, before the sun had even paled the night sky, Lovino had already paced the castle halls three times over.  If he focused on the slap of his feet on the tile and the scuff of carpet, he could ignore the twist of thoughts in his head, his own mind revolting.  He willed himself to forget, at least until he could deal with the memories. 

They persisted.

Each meaningless piece of memory—playing in the vineyard, scraping his knee, stealing food from banquets with his brother—brought strength to the voice in his head.

 _I need to kill the man who did this to me_.  _Destroy the Tiers._

Lovino hissed and clawed at his hair.  His teeth chattered.  “S’not what I want.  S’not what I want.  That’s not what I want.”

_Destroy everything._

Lovino stood up straight, brows scrunching.  “That’s not me.  I’m not thinking those thoughts—“

_Destroy everything._

He climbed up into a rounded window and stared down at the gardens below.  Rain poured across the grounds.  He could hear the rush of water plummeting from the Fourth Tier collection system down into the chute on the Third. 

_Destroy everything._

“Goddammit--I’m not even the Destroyer.  I’m the Creator—“

_Destro—_

Lovino was panting now.  He slipped back onto the floor and paced more violently than before.  It was difficult breathing past the knot in his throat.  He held his head.  “Oh god oh god oh god there is a voice in my head, a voice, what the fuck get _out_ of there leave me _alone—“_

He began to doubt he’d heard anything at all.

Heart thrashing in his chest, he climbed out the window and dropped down onto the balcony below, landing between two potted rosebushes which raked shallow scratches across his skin.  He snatched at the plant and squeezed til blood trickled out of his fist.  The pain was raw and fresh.

He was awake.

Then, he released the bush, wiped the blood on his pants, then jogged toward the edge of the balcony.  Hurdling over it, Lovino landed ten feet below into thick grass, tumbling to break his fall, then scrambled for the bushes where he started to tear through in search for the wings Gilbert left.  Lovino could only hope and pray that they were still in one piece.  He doubted the king had found them; he would have gushed over them if he had. 

Lovino’s hand brushed something soft.  The wings.  He carefully tugged them free and started trying to wring them out where he could.   The rain, as if to taunt him, fell harder, until he and the wings were thoroughly drenched.

But only one thought crowded his tired mind now:  _Gotta get to Gilbert._

He thrust his arms through the restraints like he was pulling on a shirt.  The wings were a bit long for him, but he found that he could adjust them easily enough with a series of straps and pulleys.  A bit of his power leaked into them and repaired some of the tears.  The effort left Lovino lightheaded, but, with a grunt, he stood and clambered over the fence, holding tight to avoid slipping.  Yelping, he fell on his ass on the other side, nearly rocking back into the torrent of water gushing through the channel just on the other side.  He clutched tightly to the bars.  Wind threatened to catch them and rip him off the island.

“This is stupid,” he admitted to himself.  He didn’t even know where this Lukas guy lived or if he would survive the fall.  But if Gilbert could fly up onto this island with these wings, then surely he could make it safely to the ground.

Once the wind calmed, he released one hand from the fence and pulled himself to his feet.  He took one step, like a man inching along a cliff face, moving his hand one over the other to help guide timid steps. 

He shuttered and clung tight as a violent gust twisted him over onto his back. 

His shoulder popped out of place.

With a snarl, he wrenched himself back into the right direction.

It calmed again.

He slipped.


	15. What He Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work has been hectic lately so sorry for the delay. 
> 
> Writing Lukas (and the rest of the nordics) is a challenge by itself, but writing Lukas past his breaking point was definitely an interesting thing. side note, my beta is actually writing the steamtalia nordic backstory that outlines their origins and adventures leading up to where we find them in GttS. something to look forward to!
> 
> in case you didn't get it  
> Yao=China  
> Kiku=Japan
> 
> I like to give various chars cameos here and there.

The water of the chute swallowed Lovino up and hurled him around the periphery of the island.  His nails could find no purchase.  He thrashed.  Water poured into his face and eyes and screaming mouth until he coughed and choked on it. 

Then gravity seized him.

He was falling into thin air.  He spread his hands but the water slapped him down into the next chute.  He saw stars, but by some miracle kept his head above water as he struggled.

Thin air again.

This time he positioned his body head down and caught a blast of wind, which jerked him—in a cloud of mist—from under the waterfall.  He was able to spread his wings now and stabilize himself in the air, but the sudden fight against gravity pulled at his shoulders and arms so much that his dislocated shoulder seared with pain.  He would have cried out if he hadn’t been coughing so hard.

He dared look down.  The First Tier was only twenty feet below, but he angled himself downward, trying to make his body as small as possible, as if that would stop the wind from shoving him back and forth.  Teeth grit, he persisted on.

He’d heard something about the top plateau.  He could see the Grounded Tier now as he dipped below the First Tier and wheeled around.  If not for the pain, he would have screamed into the air at this strange feeling of freedom.  For an instant, everything but the wind and the rain was stricken from his reeling mind.

Then, below the Grounded Tier, Lovino could see a series of Plateaus rise up out of a chasm like a series of twisted stairs. 

Lovino fell into a headlong dive, tucking his wings by his side.  The bamboo forest had appeared a green blotch from above, but now materialized as a swaying mass of trunks and leaves. The ground got bigger.  He fell faster.   

Grunting, Lovino gnashed his teeth and opened his wings.  The sudden resistance yanked him upward just feet above the tops of the bamboo rods, and he cried out with a fresh jolt of pain.  Then, air hissing in and out of his lungs, he started to maneuver toward the edge where the ground was clear.

A fresh deluge of rain pelted him as a sudden gust of wind knocked him into the clattering forest.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

When he woke, he had been moved.  The roof over his head was not a roof but the upper wall of what looked like a cave burrowed into the dirt.  He tried to sit up.

Several joints protested harshly.  A sharp pain in his side hinted at bruised ribs.  “Ah fuck…” he muttered, wiping at his nose.  His hand came away bloodied.  By the time he clambered to his feet, wavering, his head pounded and he tasted bile.

A man approached him as silently as a cat and helped him over to a mattress shoved in the corner.  For a cave, it was well furnished, with tapestries covering dirt walls floor to ceiling and rugs woven together by lamb’s wool.  Tables and chairs were made from bamboo and red oak. 

Lovino blacked out from the movement, but came to a moment later to find a bowl tipped to his lips.  Something sweet and thick dribbled into his mouth and down his chin.  He swallowed gingerly then took the bowl in his hands and knocked it back.  He gulped it down, thankful for the cool sensation on the back of his throat.

The man watched knowingly, nodding as if pleased.  He returned with more and nudged at his lips with it.  “Drink more.”

Lovino obeyed.

“Good.”  He disappeared again into a kitchen area and shoved a plate of dumplings into his face.  They steamed, piping hot.  “Eat up, you’re too skinny.”  He spoke in staccato spurts, expression intense.

“Yao, you’ll overwhelm him,” a second voice said.  Another man had been sitting next to a basket of bamboo.  He took one in his hand and started peeling the fibers apart, one fistful at a time.  He bowed his head slightly at Lovino.  “I apologize for my friend.”

“No one asked you, Kiku,” Yao said, tossing his hair over his shoulder.  It was dark and long, midway down his back.  He took a moment to secure it in a low ponytail.

Lovino ate two or three and found that he was ravenous despite his scrapes and bruises.  He devoured the entire plate then wiped at his mouth again.  The blood had dried at his nose.

Finally Kiku stood and padded over with a rag he’d dipped in water.  “Attend to his wounds first.”  His hair was shorter, cropped bluntly across his forehead and by his ears. 

Yao huffed, “Well I already _fed_ him, so don’t say first.”  Still, he took the rag and started to dab at the cuts and scrapes.  Slender fingers tested along Lovino’s rib cage til he winced.  “Hmm, take your shirt off,” he said.

Lovino frowned.

“You want help or not?  Take the shirt off.”

Finally, Lovino slipped out of the shirt, but held it on his lap.  It had once smelled like Gilbert, but months of wearing it saturated it with Lovino’s own smell.  Kiku tugged it from his lap and took it over to where he’d been doing laundry earlier. 

“It’ll be good to have it clean,” he said simply.  He started scrubbing, if only for something to do.

Yao clucked his tongue then continued his examination.  He shook his head a little, like a mother assessing a mess that her child made.  “Hmm, this isn’t too bad.”  Deft fingers pried into the intercostal space, carefully, while the other hand measured Lovino’s breaths.  “Bedrest,” he said, as if from an epiphany.  “And lots of it!  It will be good opportunity to fatten you up.”

“The fucking _hell—_ “  Lovino winced sharply.  Pain stabbed his side.  “I’m not skinny first of all and second of all I need to find someone—before it’s too late—“

Yao smacked at his head.  “My god, you’re so noisy.  No wonder your ribs hurt—“

Kiku rested the shirt over a rack to dry.  He stood slowly.  “You’re causing our guest distress.”

He pulled Yao away and they squabbled quietly like an old married couple, until Kiku, triumphant, approached Lovino with a tankard from the tabletop.

“Please drink this,” he said.

Lovino stared dubiously at it.

Kiku only set it in his lap.

This time Yao slapped his friend on the head.  “You’re being too pushy!”

Kiku raised his brows.  “Examine yourself first.”

Yao scoffed but helped Lovino tip the second tankard to his lips.  Almost immediately the thief sputtered and coughed as the alcohol burned down his throat.  “God fucking _dammit—“_ He pounded feebly at his chest. 

“You waste the strong stuff,” Yao muttered.

“Better him drinking it than you,” Kiku said, though he took away the tankard and supplied water. 

Lovino gulped it down.  “Okay.  Stop _arguing_ you’re making my head spin—“

“It’s not arguing, it’s friendly discussion,” Yao fussed.

Kiku scoffed a little bit. 

Lovino put his head in his hands and sighed.  “Look, I need to get to some guy named Lukas Bondevich.”

“He doesn’t heal cases like this,” Yao said, “Only deadly diseases.  Anything less is a waste of his time and energy.  Bruises heal on their own.”

“No, I need to find my—my friend.”

“Your _friend_?” Yao asked, with a maddening knowing smile. 

Lovino swatted at him, teeth chattering again.  “And he went to find this Lukas guy.”

“I met him,” Kiku said, sensing Lovino’s distress.  “It was maybe half an hour ago.  I pointed him in the right direction.”  He put a hand on Yao’s shoulder that told him to back off a little.  He looked apologetically at Lovino again.  “Please don’t strain yourself to make the journey immediately.”

“Like hell am I staying here,” Lovino muttered.  He gripped the edge of the mattress on either side of his body then pushed himself to his feet.  He swayed a little but managed a few steps.  His sides burned from exertion.  “Shitty wings.”

He glanced around, realizing that they were no longer fastened to his arms.  He saw them lying in a tattered pile in the corner.  The pair must have removed them when they found him.

“I have to make a shipment anyway,” Yao said, “So I can help you get there.”  He shouldered a large backpack with many pockets.  “Bondevich buys many materials from me.  He knows I can find the best for him.”  He grinned brightly, “You could do business with me too.  Just name it and I can find it!”

“This isn’t a business venture.” Kiku said.  He grabbed a sheath from the table and secured it to his waist with belt straps.  At the door he slipped into his shoes.  “We can lead you there.”

Yao gestured to Lovino.  “Come, come.”  He followed his friend out the door then, passing him, muttered from the corner of his mouth, “I sense something off with that one.”

“You’re the one who brought him into our house,” Kiku said.  “Take responsibility.”

“I don’t think he’ll cause harm.  He’s weak anyway,” Yao said.

“I can _hear_ you,” Lovino muttered as he stalked past.  He limped slightly, but otherwise had little trouble walking.

Kiku matched his pace.  “Please forgive us.”

Yao walked on Lovino’s other side and lightly touched his elbow.  “You’re leaking many strange energies.”

Lovino wrenched his elbow away.  He focused on putting one step in front of the other. 

They made it through the forest just half an hour behind Gilbert and Arthur.

Yao pointed to the houseboats.  “See, he lives over on that one on the far right.” 

\--

“We’re going to bring down the kingdom,” Gilbert said, throwing his arms out. 

“Find another man to help you,” Lukas said.

“Lukas, just give this a _chance_.  Lovino’s life is at stake and this whole country _needs_ this—“

“Your boundless optimism will only get you killed,” Lukas said.  “Trust me.”

Gilbert spat out a humorless laugh, “Trust _me_ , I am not one for boundless optimism—“

“ _Find another man,”_ Lukas repeated.  He glanced at the door to the back again and started to fidget.  He blinked against a wave of fatigue.

“If you’d just tell me what happened—we can get _revenge_ for what the king did to Mathias—“

Lukas stood so abruptly that his chair clattered backwards.  “Do _not_ fucking bring Mathias into this.  Find another man.”

“How long as it been?” Arthur asked, “Since what happened?”

“None of your goddamn business.  You will not play me,” Lukas said.  “Get out.”

“Three years?” Arthur asked.  “Mathias was a good man.”

“ _Get out.”_ Lukas said.

“But this is not what he would have wanted—“ Arthur continued.  He backed away a step as Lukas advanced on him. 

The small healer took on an icy aura.  The room grew cold.  “You know shit about him or me.”

The door slammed open and Yao waltzed in.  His bag rattled as it hit the floor. 

Lukas turned, brow furrowed.  “What did I say about showing up uninvited.”

“I have the herbs you want,” Yao announced, ignoring the tension in the room.  “And the…other stuff.”

Lukas glowered at Arthur and Gilbert, but walked over to examine the goods. 

Yao touched the dark circles beneath Lukas’s eyes.  The other flinched back a bit with a sour expression.  “You been using what I gave you to sleep?” Yao asked.

Lukas nodded.

“You haven’t slept in at least two days,” Yao said.  “I can tell.”

“I think I’m on to something,” Lukas said, “No time to sleep.  And stop nagging.”

“You can’t buy my product if you die of exhaustion,” Yao said simply, though he did back off a bit. 

Kiku bowed to the other guests.  “I see you’ve made it to your destination well.  I have not formerly introduced myself before.  I am Honda Kiku.  My friend is Wang Yao.”

Arthur reached forward to shake his hand, a gesture the smaller man seemed confused by, but Gilbert only stared at the door which had not swung closed since the other two arrived.

“Lovino fucking Vargas—“

He rushed out.  His first inclination was to pull him into his arms--but once he had, he dragged him inside and glowered at him.  “The hell are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” Lovino said.  “Sorta…”

“I—do you know how utterly _idiotic_ that is—you think they’re just going to let you off the hook for something like that once we get back?  They’ll—they’ll mess you _up_ for that they’ll—“  He shuddered and pulled him tight, ignoring when the other hissed in protest, ribs burning again.

“Goddamit,” Gilbert muttered.  “This isn’t going to end well—you _do_ realize how—how—he’s going to beat the everliving shit out of you—Oh god—why the hell—what was going through your fucking head?!”

Lukas looked up.  He’d been going through the wares that Yao had brought him.  It took all of two seconds for him to work out what had happened.  “Look.  Your lover is safe.  You can leave me alone now.”  He turned away and finished his business deal with Yao.

Gilbert took Lovino by the shoulders.  He stared wide-eyed at him in agonized fear then broke the gaze to glance to Lukas.  “If only.  We’re going back.  Look, we have a plan.  We _need_ you to come with us.”

Lukas let out a strangled laugh and shook his head, so completely at the end of his rope that he was nearing hysterics.  He calmed himself.  “You’re seriously going back?  You want to see your precious little friend lying lifeless on the ground and know that you _could have prevented it_.  Go ahead.  But do not ask me to go back there.  Never again.”

“Lukas—“

Kiku placed a gentle hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.  “He’s in enough pain,” he said quietly, “Please stop.”

“It’s not Mathias who is broken—it—it’s _you_ —“ Gilbert screamed at him. 

Lukas recoiled.  He shoved Yao away from him, who only stumbled back a few steps.  “You think I don’t _know_ that.  Get out.  Get out.  _Get out._ ”  He struggled past a fresh wave of fatigue, but this time let Yao steady him.  “I can fix him.  I can fix him.  I can _fix_ him.”

“We—we better go—“ Arthur murmured, halfway out already.

Gilbert followed at a half run, dragging Lovino with him.  “We won’t let this stop us.  We’ll—we’ll go back and resume as before—“

Lovino shook his head.  He wiped at tears budding in the corner of his eyes, teeth chattering again.  “Gilbert, please don’t make me go back there.  I-I’m not afraid of my brother or what could happen.  I-I’m afraid to use my powers.  Don’t make me go back—“

Gilbert turned on him.  “What—what happened?”  His expression turned gentle.  He pulled Lovino tight into his arms, like his own body heat could stop his shivering, as if it was that simple.

Lovino’s fingers curled into his shirt.  “We’re both free.  We can just go—just go and find a place to live together.  Someplace far away.  We’d have a week’s headstart before they noticed we were gone—“

With a quiet hum, Gilbert pressed three kisses into his forehead and the top of his head.  “What about Alfred and Feliciano?  They’d pay for our desertion.  A-and we’d never be truly free.  Every day we’d have to look over our shoulders for enemies.  Every day we’d have to worry if they’d found us.  A life on the run is _not_ a life.”  He rubbed at Lovino’s back, “We can do this.  We can pull off our plan.  Because I saw what you did to my bird and I know you can do it to the soldiers.  It’ll all be okay.  I promise.”  He spoke as if trying to convince himself. 

Lovino groaned a little bit. 

Gilbert’s voice dipped into a whisper, “Our country might not get a better chance than this one to get rid of the king.  We—we have to do it.  Things are lining up and someone like you—someone with extraordinary powers—someone like you with someone like me can pull it _off.”_

“I don’t want what happened to Mathias to happen to you,” Lovino said.  He so desperately wanted to tell Gilbert about what had happened, but when he opened his mouth, no sound would come out.  He frowned a little bit.  How could he have explained it anyway?  That he thought he was going insane?  “And it might—if I can’t—if I can’t get my powers together.”

“It won’t,” Gilbert said.  He was quiet for a moment.

“It almost did,” Lovino said.  “My brother would have done it…”

Gilbert shrugged, “But you didn’t let him.  It’ll be okay.”

Another groan.  “Who _was_ Mathias?”  He was desperate to change the subject.  The idea of Gilbert lying lifeless somewhere twisted at his heart.

“A pirate,” Gilbert said.  “But I knew him when he was playing mercenary.  We were both just starting out.  That was when the king rented out a flying navy.  Brave man.  Saved my life once, actually.  But then we sort of parted ways and he became an enemy, not that I would hold that against him.  The king and the pirates were always at odds.  But I understood why he did what he did.” 

He shrugged a little bit, “Can’t really imagine him lifeless, to be honest.  He was loud, especially when drunk.  Boisterous.  Always getting his hands into something.  Could make friends with just about anyone.”

“I want to visit him,” Lovino said.

“That Lukas guy will literally stab you in the neck,” Gilbert warned.  “We pissed him off big time.”

“I want to see the extent of my brother’s powers.  I want to see what he can do,” he insisted.  Reverently.  He stared at the ground, lips moving slowly as he spoke.  “I won’t harm anything.  I won’t even let Lukas know I’m there—“

“You’re going to break in?  Are you completely out of your mind?”

Lovino nodded.  “I think I might be.  But that’s unrelated.”

“—What?”

Lovino shook his head.  “Just wait there, okay.  I just—it’s something I need to see for myself. If I’m ever going to understand myself, I have to understand my brother as well.  We’re two sides of the same damn coin.”  He walked quietly toward the rear of the boat.

Gilbert stared after him, gaping.  “The hell…?”

Nonplussed, Arthur shrugged.  “Kid’s got a deathwish.”

“There is something really off with him…” Gilbert said.  “Something happened in that castle while I was gone.  He wouldn’t have gone to find me otherwise…and you _saw_ how panicked he was.”

Lovino found a back window and worked carefully to pry the shutters apart.  He could smell something burning inside, but it was mostly metallic and floral.  It took a little bit of effort to pull the window up, and even more to squeeze himself through the limited space.

He landed with a dull thud.  The boat rocked slightly.

Lovino held his breath, but the conversation—mostly Yao—in the next room did not stop.  Maybe they were used to this sort of thing.

This room was fairly dark.  Sunlight streamed into the room in bars where the shutters marred it.  Prison bars, Lovino thought, tiptoeing toward the single bed in the tiny room where a body lay completely still beneath several patchwork quilts.  The remains of soup lay stagnant in a bowl on the bedside table, along with some rags and several bowls of vile-smelling paste.  A tall pole-axe leaned in the corner of the room.

Otherwise, it was empty, save for a little arrangement of blankets beside the bed and a stained pillow.

Lovino stepped over it to peer into Mathias’s face.  Though his skin was pale, the steady rise and fall of his chest betrayed life.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that he was sleeping.  He pressed a finger to his forehead, brows furrowed.  Cold. 

Lovino frowned.  “So this is what my brother can do…”

Mathias slept on.

“I’m sorry,” Lovino muttered.  His chest felt oddly tight.  He kept his voice reverent, as if he were visiting a grave.  “If my apology means anything.”

_He flew too close to the sun.  He got what he deserved._

Lovino’s breath hitched.  He clutched at the bedpost, desperate to stay quiet.  That voice again.  “Shut up,” he hissed to no one.  “I don’t know who the hell you ar—“

 _I am you_.

Lovino turned his head away.  He gagged on the bile that rose in his throat then started for the window.  He had to get out of here. 

He felt the dam in his head crack again.  His body itched with so much energy that the very fibers of his nerves ached deep within. 

“Goddammit…”

The power leapt from his fingertips and crackled.  The air became charged.  Somewhere, just beyond his consciousness, a steady ticking chipped away at the silence until it was all he could focus on.  He lost himself in it all somewhere, every muscle in his body tense and every inch of his skin hyper-aware.  He felt the _thing_ behind the dam shift and try to struggle past.  He knew it would overwhelm him if it did—he had to fight it—keep his powers and his memories safe behind that wall for his own sake—

A strangled sob ripped from his mouth.  Dizzy, he fell to his knees then clawed at the floor, black spots heavy in his vision.

The door slammed open.  He felt hands around his neck.  Squeezing.

Lukas.  His face swam in and out of view.  He feebly struggled and kicked, but was already too depersonalized to even focus his eyes. 

“I told you to _leave—“_

Had he heard that in his head or did Lukas say it?  He blinked until clarity returned.

“Lu…kas?”

Lukas froze, as if stricken, Lovino still choking against the fingers digging into his neck.  He gasped for breath and clawed at the other’s face.

Lukas released him and stood, as if he hardly noticed.  “Mat..hias?”  He walked as if in a trance to the bed.  Lovino fell to his hands and knees and coughed heavily on the floor.

Mathias tried to sit up, but was met with instant weakness from degraded muscles.  Panting, he gripped at the blankets.  “Don’t kill people…remember?  S’kinda rude…”  He managed a weak chuckle.

“You—you’re awake,” Lukas said.  His voice made no sound.  “How are you awake…?”

Desperate to sit up, Mathias pushed against the mattress.  He reached toward Lukas, who helped pull him into a sitting position, cradling him in his own shaking arms, holding his head up with one hand like he was the most fragile thing in the world. 

“S’what happens after you sleep.  You wake up,” Mathias gasped.  “Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a barge…where…am I?” 

“We downsized,” Lukas said bitterly.  He wanted nothing more to close his eyes and collapse against Mathias, bury his nose into his neck, listen to a pulse that finally _meant_ something.

“I’d say,” Mathias said, looking around.  “Where’s…where’s the fam?”

“In our boat,” Lukas said.

Mathias looked around again, brows furrowed.  “Oh.  Good.  Thought for a second you gave away my pride and joy.  Goddamn I worked so hard for that ship.  Almost had to…had to”  He yawned and wiped at his eyes, “had to kick your ass.”  His eyes slipped closed.

With a start, Lukas shook his shoulders and slapped at his face, gentle but urgent.  “Mathias—Mats.  Do not go back to sleep.”  His voice cracked.  “Please—“

Mathias groaned, “The hell Lukas…”  He managed to get his eyes open again.  Lukas’s desperate face wavered in and out of focus.

“If you sleep you might not wake up.”

“Course I would,” Mathias said at the tail-end of a long breath.  “You’re acting weird, Lukas.  Weirder than normal.”  He reached up to brush a finger across his cheek, groaning when even that was difficult.

“You slept for three years.  Don’t tell me I’m acting strange.”

“What…?”

Lukas hunched over his head, allowing him to lie down, but kissed fiercely at his lips.  Mathias kissed feebly back, eyes open and dark with confusion, fingers curling to Lukas’s hair as he wrapped his arms around his head.  He pulled his lips to the side, panting heavily from the effort. 

“Three years?”  This time his tone was alarmed.  “You’re saying I was out for three years.”

Lukas sobbed against him once then held his breath until his voice was steady again.  “Yes, you asshole.  You left me alone for 3 goddamn years.  You give up on someone when they don’t wake up for three years.”

Mathias went numb.  He clung tighter.  “You didn’t,” he managed, unable to process what that meant.  “You’re still here.  Why are you still here, you idiot.”  He breathed in pained snatches.  “Three…years?  Three fucking years.  Oh god.  What the _hell_ I don’t even remember what happened before this.  Shit…shit… _Shit_.”  He managed a dry and bitter laugh, shaking his head, then tried to press a kiss into Lukas’s head.  “Lukas, I’m so sorry.  So so so sorry—“

“Don’t apologize,” Lukas snapped, though his voice lacked any real venom.  “I can’t deal with it.”

Mathias groaned and tried another kiss.  “You can cry, you know.  Who am I gonna tell.”  The guilt pressed more heavily on his tired limbs than his fatigue ever would.  His eyes slipped shut again.  He forced them open.  “Lukas?  I have to sleep.  Don’t—I will wake up.  I will.  I promise.  Just so tired…goddamn…”

“Mathias—don’t—“  Lukas pleaded.

“Trust me…”  He trailed off as his eyes slipped shut again.

“You better wake up,” he muttered.

Lovino had recovered enough to climb to his feet, but he’d just stood there, not daring to breathe lest he interrupt the pair.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“You did this, didn’t you,” Lukas said.  “Woke him.”

Lovino hesitated.  “Yes.”

“You’re three years late,” Lukas said, a shaking hand smoothing Mathias’s hair.  He managed a weak smile when the other shifted away.

Lovino swallowed. 

Lukas sighed and crawled out of the bed, tucking Mathias in as carefully as he could.  He could not stop stroking at his face, desperate for the way he reacted in his sleep after years of being completely inanimate. 

“Now will you help us?” Lovino said.  “Because if you don’t, the same thing will happen to me or Gilbert.”  He felt his heart pound in his chest.  If he could wake someone after a three year coma, then maybe Gilbert was right.  He could control the soldiers.

_If you want to risk me surfacing, then go ahead._

He shook his head against the voice, too weak to acknowledge it but unable to push it back into the background. 

_Every time you use your powers, I get stronger._

Lukas sighed deeply.  “I can break the seal on your powers if you want.  But I can’t leave.  Mathias is awake, but he’s far from recovered.  That asshole has always been needy as hell.”

Lovino tensed.  “I—I’m not ready to be ‘fixed’.  Yet.  I mean--”

“Show yourself out.  Come back later.  Tomorrow.”  Lukas blinked but curled up on the other side of Mathias, finally succumbing to the weight of fatigue that had been crushing him for the past three years.  He was unconscious before Lovino climbed from the window, his fingers curled up in Mathias’s hand.

Gilbert and Arthur had just begun climbing toward the back of the boat and were prying the other window open when Lovino emerged.

“I heard shouting—“ Arthur said.

Gilbert caught Lovino as he tumbled from the window.  “Lovino…?  What happened?”

Lovino shook his head and closed his eyes.  “Fixed Mathias.”

Gilbert was more concerned with the bruises already dappling his neck.  Without a word, he pushed at Lovino’s head to get a better look.  “Did he—“

“It’s okay,” Lovino muttered, “He had every right—“  He shoved Gilbert away, able to stand despite shaking legs.  “I fixed Mathias,” he repeated.

This made Gilbert pause.  Frowning, he craned his neck to look into the window.  In the gloom he could see nothing but the outline of the bed and its occupants.  “You…fixed him?  How?”

“The same way I fixed Gilbird,” Lovino said.

“I thought your power only worked on machines—“

“Feliciano’s works on people.  Mine is opposite.”  Lovino shrugged, “It was an accident anyway.  I…I don’t want to overdo it.  He said come back tomorrow, so let’s just do that and see what he has to say.  It’s not like he can just drop Mathias and follow us anyway, even if he wanted to.”

Gilbert nodded, “Um, maybe if his crew is still in the area they can help us out.  Take him in.”

Arthur nodded, “That’s a good idea.  Do you know where they might be?”

“When they dropped me off, they docked farther South, out of sight.  Can’t hurt to look for them.”  Refusing to release Lovino—and insisting on helping him along with an arm thrown around his back—Gilbert made his way over the procession of boats back to solid ground.  Arthur was not far behind.

\--

“Where is he?” The king said quietly.  “This island is closed off at all but one exit.  Do not tell me he is hiding somewhere in the bushes.”  He paced in front of the ranks of his palace guard, holding a stick that was more for show than anything else.  “I suspect one of you _betrayed_ me and let him free.  Speak.”

His soldiers remained impassive.

Ludwig stood toward the left, at attention as he was trained to do.  His lips were pressed into a thin line.

His jaw twitched when the king stopped in front of him.  “What about you, Ludwig?  Do you or the brat know anything?”

“No sir,” Ludwig said.  “I have no interest in the wellbeing of the elder brother.”

“Yes, but you have an interest in Feliciano,” The king said. 

“Feliciano is still here,” Ludwig said simply.  “If I was going to free someone, it’d be him.”

The king rounded on Alfred.  “What about you?  What do _you_ know?”

Alfred shook his head.  He tried to dispel the tension with an uneasy grin.  “I haven’t seen the guy since Arthur and Gilbert left—“

“One of you is _lying_!” The king shouted. 

Spittle flew into Alfred’s face, but he did not wince.

 The King backed off but resumed pacing, “If he is indeed not on this island, I will cut half of you down for failing your duties as guards.  If he is, then I’ll have to start weeding him out.”  He gestured to several of his soldiers, who were thankful to break rank if only to leave his presence.  “Take Alfred and Ludwig to be _properly_ interrogated and then publically flogged.”

Ludwig, face set into a deep frown, allowed the soldiers to lash his hands behind his back.  He walked beside Alfred in stony silence, ignoring the blunt ends of spears jabbing between his shoulders.

“How the hell is this _my_ fault,” Alfred muttered. 

\--

Instances like these, Gilbert severely missed Gilbird.  He wondered if he’d ever made it to the town of Kayma, or if it was too long a flight even for the mechanical bird.  Hopefully he was alright.  If he broke his wing, who would be there to repair him?

He kept an arm around Lovino’s shoulders, desperate to keep at least him safe and close.  He sensed that something was troubling his lover, but even if he _could_ find the words to ask him about it, he knew he’d just push him away.  Gilbert’s only option was to offer his support from a safe distance until Lovino came to him.

Or so he hoped.

Gil prodded at Lovino’s elbow with his other hand, offering him a little smile as they approached the ship.  It was easily twice as large as Antonio’s beloved piece of junk, though there were still barnacles crusted along the underbelly and patches where the wood—originally intended for air—had started to decay. 

Berwald was dangling from a rope line attached to a harness, making small repairs from supplies that fit into a shoulder bag.  He grunted, turning when he heard Gilbert shout, then nodded his acknowledgement.  The sound of his hammer rang out.  Emil was on the other side with a little scraper, cursing at the barnacles that he could not pry loose.

“We’ve got news—“ Gilbert shouted.

Berwald raised a hand to his ear.

Jogging closer, Lovino in tow, Gilbert bellowed out again.  “Throw us a line!”  He waved his arms up at the ship, which hovered twenty feet in the air; they _could_ have just parked it on the edge of the cliff, so that the deck was level with the ground.  Paranoia, Gilbert thought.  Though maybe it was for good reason.  He didn’t know what the villagers on this plateau were capable of.

Tino poked his head over the railing and waved back.  Hanatamago barked.  Grinning, the pirate tossed the rope ladder off over the side, which rolled down the edge of the ship, the end slapping the ground near Gilbert’s feet.  Swallowing, Gilbert bit his lip as he stared at the distance between the ship and the ground. 

Still, he could feel Arthur’s and Lovino’s eyes on him and so he started to climb, grunting when the rope swayed back and forth.  If he could skydive off of a floating island with nothing but makeshift wings or scale a cliff on a knotted rope, he could climb a damn ladder.

At the same time, Berwald started to pull himself up by a pulley system.  He climbed over the rail, wiping at the sweat on his forehead and readjusting his glasses as he waited for the trio to join him.

“Oh great, now I’m the only one doing any work around here,” Emil said dryly.  “Assholes.”

Hanatamago pranced around Lovino’s feet and nipped at the leg of his pants until Lovino knelt down to pet him.  It was preferable to socializing with strangers; he was too tired to engage, and it was obvious in the dark circles under bloodshot eyes.

“So that’s the boy!  You were successful!” Tino said, gesturing over to Lovino.  “You looking to return home?  We can give you a ride, since we’ve decided to keep this ship in the air for a bit.  Then after that, I guess it’s time to seek friendlier skies.”

“Our mission isn’t over yet,” Gilbert explained.

Berwald’s lips pressed into a thin line.  “What do you mean?”

“Lovino and I need to go back,” Gilbert said.

“Our help doesn’t extend that far,” Berwald said. 

Gilbert waved his hands, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not like that at all.  We’re not coming here begging for help.  We, uh, we’re actually delivering some news.”

“News?” Tino asked. 

“Go visit Lukas,” Gilbert said.

Berwald frowned.  “Out of the question.”

“It’s Mathias,” Gilbert said.

This time Tino frowned as well.  He paled.  “He’s not…dead, is he?  Just come right out and say what you mean.”

“No bush-beating,” Berwald said.  He, too, seemed paler.  He looked away.

“He’s awake,” Gilbert said.

Before he could say more, Tino was already running for the edge of the ship.  “Emil.  Get back up on deck—we’re setting sail—“

“The hell—Well don’t complain because it’s still gross, because you’re the reason I had to stop scraping barnacles.”  He huffed, mumbling to himself, but gladly put the scraper in his back pocket and pulled himself up.  “The hell is going on?”  He looked from Tino to Berwald to Gilbert.

“Visiting Lukas,” Tino said.  He could hardly sit still.  An instant later and he was running toward the bridge to start up the engine.

“Oh.  Great,” Emil muttered, “Because that’ll be a pleasant visit.”  He went to unfurl the sails as expected of him.

“Don’t know what his problem is,” Berwald said simply.  “Hope Mats and Lukas can help him sort it out.”  He lumbered over to help his crew.

“Just the three of them fly this massive thing?” Arthur asked.

Gilbert nodded.  “Yeah, it’s quite a feat.  They have to run around like crazy to get it all done.”

“Seems a shame to have such a big ship without hardly a crew to run it,” Arthur pointed out.  “But I suppose they manage.”

Gilbert shrugged, “Please don’t magically segue into talking about Alfred again.”  His tone was dry but his grin was cheeky.  “The man is probably sneezing all over the place.  Or is it that your nose itches when someone talks about you?”

Arthur shook his head bitterly, “He’s probably broken out into hives, to be honest.”

“I’m telling you, just give it a chance,” Gil said.

“And I’m telling you that he’s at least six years younger than me and would eventually tire of me,” Arthur said. 

Sails fully extended, the ship bucked upward as it rode an upward current.  Both Gilbert and Arthur stumbled back a little bit but, regaining their balance, rushed over to the bridge where the others were aggregated.  Tino fidgeted but kept his eyes on the skies.

Emil absently petted Hanatamago. 

Berwald’s lips were just barely twitched into what Gilbert would have interpreted as a hopeful smile.  Or a grimace.

The journey, which had taken at least an hour on foot, was reduced to only fifteen minutes by ship, especially with the winds whistling through the rigging and catching the sails like it did.  Tino was masterful at steering the ship.  He understood how the currents worked and how to most efficiently direct the vessel. 

This time they did dock at level with the cliff-face, but only because they were among the little fleet of houseboats.  It was Tino that threw the line over and anchored the ship to a heavy rock then, disregarding safety, leapt four feet over onto the next boat over.  It rocked heavily.  It was around suppertime, so the family was out on the deck eating.  They complained loudly.

Berwald looked to Emil then gestured for Arthur and Gilbert to stay.  “S’family business,” he said.  He put a hand on Emil’s shoulder.  The boy had hung back, looking more scared than sour. 

“Emil.  You need to come with us.”

Emil shook his head.  “What’s the point?”   He crossed his arms as he tried to wrench away.

Berwald tightened his grip and looked down at him.  “Emil.”

Emil frowned.

“He’s your brother.”

“He chose a dead-man over me—“ Emil finally snapped.  He ground his teeth then glowered down at his shoes.  “Didn’t matter that I’m still here, fully breathing.  I needed him too.  No, I had to grieve two people instead of one.  He’s selfish.  He’s always been selfish.”

“Emil,” Berwald repeated.  His voice left no room for argument.  “He’s family.”  He pulled him into an awkward embrace that lasted only a second before releasing him and moving on, joining Tino on the deck.

Emil reluctantly followed.

They disappeared over the back of the one boat and toward the cabin where Lukas lived.

Gilbert looked to Arthur, “Should we…go?”

“And climb up that rope ladder?” Arthur asked, “Something tells me that I don’t want to chance it.  And that’s not considering the trek through that swampy forest.  We’ll see if they’ll take us as far as the Grounded Tier.  S’the least they can do, what with Lovino there bringing their captain back to life.”

Lovino sat leaning against the railing, head tilted all the way back so that he could focus on breathing.  “We can still do the plan without Lukas,” he said.

“Returning empty-handed will only make it worse,” Gilbert said, “Somehow we have to convince him that this is worth it…”  He sat as well then scooched across the deck to join Lovino.  “So you’re…back on for the plan, then?”

Lovino shrugged, “Do I have a choice?”

Gilbert hummed at that but wrapped his arms around him.  “If something is going on, you can let me know.  I’m here for you.  Always.”  He pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I know,” Lovino said.  He allowed the contact, but did not reciprocate or even lean into his touch.  “Regaining my memories is very hard on me,” he muttered, “S’not like that’s hard to guess.”

“You’re doing great,” Gilbert said.  “You brought a comatose man back to life!  It’s a big jump!”

Lovino only grunted.  He tasted bile.


	16. Alleyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning, there IS smut in this chapter, toward the end. Feel free to skip it (you can kinda tell where it's gonna begin) if you wish! This is kinda a chill chapter tbh. wanted a little lull before serious shit goes down, if only for Lovi's sake.
> 
> I announced a temporary hiatus on my tumblr, but had no way of letting peeps on ao3/ffnet know. Had to get my cosplays and otakon things done! But the hiatus is over and we'll go back to our normal updating schedule!
> 
> editing this was a pain in the neck and I've got to rewrite a chunk of ch17. still didn't quite get this the way I wanted it, but I figured you'd waited long enough!

When the crew entered Lukas’s cabin, the healer was sitting on the edge of Mats’s bed, stroking his hair.  The other hand fidgeted, and he held his breath at every twitch of Mathias’s brow, wondering if he would wake or if he would fade back into motionless deep sleep again. 

Yao and Kiku had left once they’d sold their wares.  This time Lukas only bought painkillers and sleep medication—for himself—along with fresh supplies for food preparation.  He’d need to nurse Mathias back to health once he was strong enough to eat properly.

He did not turn to face his family.  “Berwald?  I left a pot of water to boil on the stove.  Make some tea.   Something strong.  I’ve got a blend in a jar.”

The floor creaked as Berwald silently moved to obey.

Lukas blinked, feeling eyes still upon him, then finally shifted himself around.  “Hello,” he said weakly.  “Come to visit finally?” 

The pouring of water then clink of silverware rang out from the other room. 

“We heard the news,” Tino said.  He took a step forward then hesitated, only a few feet away from the bed.  “Is he…?”

“Sleeping,” Lukas said.  He studied Emil carefully, even though the younger pirate kept behind Tino and sulked quietly.  “Brother.”

Emil scoffed, but his knees shook, weak.  He held to Tino’s elbow for support.

“You’ve grown,” was all Lukas could think to say. 

“So you noticed,” Emil muttered.

Berwald returned with several steaming mugs.  These he set down on the bedside table, nudging a few supplies over to make room.  “Made it extra strong,” he said.  He walked backwards to nudge Emil over.  “Say hi properly.”

Emil looked anywhere but at his brother, but gasped when Lukas pulled him into a tight, awkward hug. 

Grunting, Emil reluctantly melted into his brother’s hold, desperate to hide the emotion playing across his face.  “S’not like I even cared you were gone,” he managed.

Lukas laughed weakly into his shoulder and released him.  “Me neither, hardly noticed.”  He gestured for Emil to sit beside him.

Emil obliged.  He felt awkward sitting so close to Mathias and oddly shy in the presence of his own brother.  Lukas occupied himself by sipping from his mug.  He pulled a little bit of a face then drank deeper.

“Added vodka,” Berwald said, as if it were nothing.

Lukas scoffed to himself a little bit.  “How did I not see that coming,” He reached over to poke Mathias’s face.  “Wake up, yer family is here.  Rude asshole, sleeping, always sleeping.”  He managed another choked laugh.

Still, he waited with bated breath when Mathias didn’t respond.  He poked him again and again. 

Mathias reached up to swat at Lukas’s hand.  “What _is_ it with you and _poking_ me?”

“S’my hobby,” Lukas said, deadpan.  “Wake up.”

“Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?”

“You’ve had plenty.”  He poked him a few more times for good measure.  “Your family is here.”

Mathias jolted up as much as his weakened body would allow.  “My family?”  He grinned up at Emil and reached for him.  “Emil!”

Emil shied away, preemptively patting down his own hair.  “No, because I know what you’ll do.”

“How else am I supposed to shower you with brotherly affection?” Mats asked.  He pretended to pout and wiggled his fingers at him as if trying to beckon him over.

Smirking, Lukas shoved Emil into Mathias’s reach.  He protested loudly as Mats thoroughly ruffled his hair.

“How’s my favourite little bro?” Mats asked once he released him.

“Pissed off,” Emil answered.  His face said anything but.  He looked away, flustered.

“Good to see nothing’s changed,” Mathias said, as bright as ever.  He let Lukas hold the mug to his lips and drank heartily.  He coughed a bit but grinned.  “Dammit, Berwald—“

Tino dragged a few chairs in from the kitchen so that he and Berwald could sit.  “So, what now?” he asked.  “Where do we go from here?”

Mathias groaned.  “Please tell me my ship is still in one piece.”

“More or less,” Tino promised.

“Somehow I’m still worried,” Mathias said.  He latched on to Lukas, who helped him into a sitting position so that he could eat at cold soup that had been sitting there for the past hour.  He got most of it down his throat, but some dribbled down his chin.  Like a fussy mother, Lukas wiped at his mouth with a handkerchief. 

“Time to leave the houseboat,” Tino said.  “Our ship needs its captain back…”

Lukas frowned, “He’s in hardly any condition.”

“He’ll recover just as well on the ship as here,” Tino said.

“Heck yeah I will,” Mats said. 

“Then we’ll relocate you tonight,” Tino said with a smile.  He exchanged looks with Berwald. “Hm, Ber?  You discuss matters with Lukas, I’ll make sure Mathias gets the rest of his dinner.  I know we all have a lot of catch up on.”  He looked to Emil, “You wanna stay here with us?”

Emil nodded.

It took some prying, but Berwald finally extracted Lukas from Mathias’s grip and led him out into the kitchen to speak.

Tino took his place and helped Mathias finish his soup. 

Mats managed only a few more bites.  His stomach was shrunken and easily upset after surviving on sparse rations for so long.  “Lukas is extra clingy,” Mathias remarked.  “Never could get him to show much affection.  Now it’s like he won’t leave me alone.  Not that I’m complaining because it’s nice—but it kind of worries me…”

Tino clicked his tongue a bit.  “Leave it to you to be worried about someone else after lying in a coma for three years.”

Mathias whined a little bit.  “Don’t remind me.  _Three years_ , Tino.  I can’t fathom—I don’t _want_ to fathom—how the hell could I _do_ something like that to Lukas?  To any of ya?”

“Don’t act like it’s your fault,” Tino said.  “I won’t stand for it.”

Mathias just groaned.

“Focus on getting better,” Tino said.  “That’s the only thing you owe anyone.  And mostly you just owe it to yourself.”

Emil stared at his hands, still folded into his lap.  He awkwardly shifted closer to Mathias.

They sat in silence until Berwald and Lukas finally stepped back in.

“We’re returning to the ship,” Lukas said.  He glanced around at his surroundings with a little scoff and only bothered to pack select medicines and necessarily supplies.  “Glad to get out of this place.”  Most of his clothes were still contained in a little bag under the bed, which he grabbed as well.  He’d never truly made himself at home in the little house-boat.

“It’s a dump,” Emil agreed.

Berwald grabbed the axe from the corner with a little nod, but handed it off to Tino, who used both hands to keep it upright.  Then, kneeling slightly, Berwald scooped Mathias up and carried him off the boat.

Mathias leaned to catch a good look at his ship once they were only a short distance away.  He wiped at his eyes, “It’s exactly as I remember—“ he frowned.  “—Wait just a fuckin minute—why the hell are their barnacles on my fucking boat you—you did _not_ stick it in the ocean—“

“For three years,” Emil said dryly. 

“—you’re all horrible people—“

“They are, aren’t they,” Emil agreed.

“I was no part of this,” Lukas said.  “Got an alibi.  Was with you.”

They found Arthur, Gilbert, and Lovino lounging around a little fire that they’d built in the pit, each holding little wire sticks to roast scraps of meat, which they slapped between old bread as makeshift sandwiches.  They ate silently, but nodded acknowledgement at the returning pirates.

It was Lukas who approached Arthur, expression stony.  “You’re intrusive and frankly annoying.”  His eyes softened just slightly at Lovino, “But I owe you.  Just the brat, not the other two of you.  You’re just along for the ride.”

Lukas glanced over at Berwald, who carried Mathias—much to his dismay—below the deck for an early bedtime.  He protested loudly—something about being a grown man.

Lovino swallowed and nodded, “Then you’ll come with us and help?”

Lukas sighed long and low.  “If I must.”  He shivered a little bit, then, jaw set, wrenched his head to look the other way.  “Not sure how much use I will be.  That place is one bad memory.  But I’ll do what I must.”

He walked away.

Tino intercepted him.  “So, we’re flying you to Volare?”

Lukas nodded, “Stay close.  I don’t want to be there one second longer than I need to.  And take care of Mats.”  He pressed the weight of his hand down on Emil’s head.  “You especially.”

“Always so much pressure,” Emil muttered.

“You can handle it,” Lukas said.

“Then let me come with you,” Emil said.  “S’not like you _have_ to do everything on your own.  You’re a damn fool for thinking so.”

“Big words for a little guy,” Lukas said.

“I’m not a little guy.  I actually grew _up_ if you didn’t notice.” 

“Got a little ways to go.”  He lessened his grip and sort of patted at his head.  “I need just one more day with Mats.  To make sure…”

 _To make sure he wakes up again_ \-- the unspoken words that everyone on board understood.

“Very well,” Gilbert said, “We can wait one more day.”  He looked over at Lovino, “In that time, before all the major shit goes down…is it possible that we spend the day somewhere nice for a change?”

“Somewhere nice?” Tino asked.

Gilbert shrugged, “Our problems…will only get worse from here on out—before they get better, I mean.  I just want to…make this day count rather than sit around waiting in anxiety.”

“Can visit the Grounded Tier,” Lukas said.  “Spend the day there.  I have a permit.”

Berwald, who had returned moments before, blinked his surprise.

Lukas only shrugged, “I’ve made a name for myself.  There are perks.  People pay big money for miracle-workers, as they called me.”  He scoffed his disdain for the title.

Berwald nodded.  “I’ll get the ship in the air.”

 “Let me help,” Lukas said.

Tino, after climbing up the rigging to do a quick perimeter check, called back down.  “Let’s hurry up—I see another ship in the distance.  Don’t really want to get into a dispute right now—probably pirates—“

“We’re pirates too,” Berwald reminded him.  “We’ll fight if we must.”

“Not in _this_ condition,” Tino said, slipping down.  He landed with a light thump.  “It’s best to avoid them completely and get into the air.  They won’t follow us as far as Volare.  Maybe not at all with the wind as crazy as it is.  Tiniest ship I’ve seen in a _long_ time.”

The group worked together as if they hadn’t been separated for any time at all, Lukas quickly pulling the ropes to unfurl the sails.  Berwald took the bridge to steer.  


In the midst of all this, Gilbert nudged Lovino’s arm.  “Hey, we have a day to ourselves before everything.  I want to…I want to take you on a date.”

“A…date?”

“You’re interested in me, I’m interested in you.  It’s how you…do these things.  I guess.  And it’ll keep your mind off of things.  That’ll be good, yeah?  Can’t stress out over everything all the time.  Shit is a big clusterfuck and we’re scared, but gotta keep our sights on the important stuff as well…like…us…and our plans…and just having fun for once.”  He chuckled nervously to himself.

Lovino stared.

Gilbert scratched behind his neck with another breathless laugh.  “A-and I’m not saying stuff is going to head south, but I just want to make tomorrow a day worth remembering.  Every relationship needs a first date _anyway—_ n-not that the dance before didn’t count but—you know what I mean.”  Gilbert realized he was babbling on and clamped his mouth shut to hide a sheepish smile.  “So um, how about it?”

Lovino mouthed through what he just said, as if trying to process this information.  His eyes lit up just a little and he nodded, “Okay.  I…I accept.”

“Y-yeah?  Um, great!”  His smile was elated, “That’s great!  Sure!” Gilbert breathed a little sigh of relief, nuzzling him with his nose and peppering his face with kisses. 

Lovino allowed him, cheeks burning just a little.  He reached up to hold Gilbert’s head still and kissed him squarely on the lips.  It was a good enough distraction, and he almost felt stable again in that moment.  He went in for a deeper kiss.  “Okay, then tell me just what people do on dates so I’ll know,” he said.

Gilbert grinned, “Well, um,” he rubbed at the back of his neck and searched the deck for inspiration.  “You talk.  And act cheesy.  Maybe hold hands.  And eat—definitely eat.”

“Sounds nice,” Lovino said, “I’d…I’d like that.  If you behave yourself.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentlemen if _you_ behave _yourself_ ,” Gilbert said, grinning.

The sun set just beyond the sails, lighting them from behind as the sky darkened.

\--

“There’s another ship on the horizon.  Headed upward—“ Elizabeta called down.  A fresh bout of wind threatened to rip her from the rigging, but she deftly eased herself down onto the deck. 

Abel and Antonio were busy lashing objects down, preparing for what would be a nasty storm.

“A ship you say?” Antonio asked.  “What kind of ship?”

Elizabeta shrugged, “Huge air vessel.  Not like the ones that the kingdom used to own—“

“Hm,” Antonio frowned but finished tying an elaborate knot around one of his cannons.  Once it was secure, he held tight to it, worried about losing his footing.  The wind, dry and scathing, tangled through his hair; his long captain’s coat ballooned out around him.  “There’s no point in pursuing, especially in this mess.  Our ship is too small to withstand storms like this so far up in the air…”

Elizabeta nodded.  “Just found it suspicious that a ship like that could be heading toward Volare.  Probably up to no good.”

Abel scoffed.  “Well it’s none of our business either way.”

Their work done, the group took shelter in the bridge while Antonio steered the ship down onto the cliffs for safety.  He dropped several anchors.  The force of the wind caused them to drag as it shoved the ship toward the forest. 

“This isn’t working,” Antonio muttered.

“No shit,” Abel said.

Elizabeta frowned but took the wheel.  “I think if we get level with the cliff it’ll block the wind.”

“If it doesn’t slam our boat into the rocks,” Antonio argued.

Elizabeta started to steer it anyway.  The ship moved agonizingly slow as it pushed through the wind.  “Well, the other boats anchored there seem to be fine…”  With expert skill, she settled it into the empty space beside the plateau edge.  The sails were already completely rolled up, so the only thing to do was drop the anchors onto solid ground.  It was Abel who volunteered to climb aboard land to lash the boat to an anchoring rock.  He nearly lost his footing and tumbled off the edge, but, bracing himself, struggled his way back to safety.  He collapsed, disheveled and shivering, back into the bridge. 

“Respect,” Elizabeta said to Abel, who only grunted.

“Let’s just get below the deck,” Antonio said, “Make sure everyone is happy.”

“There better be food,” Abel muttered.

Antonio shook his head with a little laugh and pulled up the trap door in the bridge, dropping down below the decks without using the ladder.  “If Francis has anything to do with it, then yes, there will be food.”  He rubbed at his arms, muddling through distractions.  “I just hope that we can even _locate_ Gilbert and Lovino…”

Gilbird poked its head out of his pocket.

Absently, Tonio petted at him with a stray finger, “Yeah, little guy, you’ll be the way that we find them.  So you better be pretty on the ball…at least we have that _ring_ still so we can get _in_ to Volare.”

“Don’t talk to yourself,” Abel said, “It’s weird.”

\--

An hour until midnight, the King divided up his soldiers into groups.  He paced in front of them as he talked, but gestures meant to be grand and sweeping were more finicky than anything else.  He kept wiping at beads of sweat with an old towel.  “I’ve already set the Fourth Tier factory toward building the robots.  You will also be put towards this army.”  He swallowed and wiped at his scalp.

The soldiers stared blankly.

The King put the towel down on the table.  It wouldn’t do to appear anxious.  A leader had to be confident, poised, relaxed.  “If one asks for rain, they must prepare for it in good faith.  I want my army to be _done_ by the end of two weeks.  We will start with five hundred men and go from there.  Ultimately, I want ten thousand, but for that I will need to build a factory.”

Though they threw their hands up in salutes, most seemed dubious.  However, they knew better than to voice their concerns.

“You will be given the appropriate tools, and this will work like an assembly line.  I have the plans all marked out on these scrolls…”  He sighed a bit as he feverishly looked over them for the umpteenth time.  He’d memorized them by now, but it was comforting to double-check, just in case he was missing something.  “The robots themselves are very VERY complex, but they are a series of simple parts.  Learn your station well and place your part well, and we will achieve the overall goal.  Anyone who slows my assembly line faces life in the Fourth Tier Factory with the rest of my drones.”

He waved them off with a little grimace, but signaled one group to stay.  “You.  I am thinking that if the little brat is truly off the island, then he is with the Albino.  Find them and bring them back.  My only requirement is that the kid stays _alive_.  Do as you wish with the other one.”

The four saluted.  A fifth waited awkwardly behind them.

The king, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, glanced up at him.  “Oh, you’re back.  Have either spilled anything yet?”

He shook his head.  “They claim to know nothing, sir.”

“Do what it takes to get them talking.  Threaten them with the Destroyer if you have to.”

“S-sir, if you remove Beilschmidt from the picture, then the Destroyer won’t answer to you any longer…”

The king frowned, “What a precarious position.”  He reached for the towel again.  “The same does not apply to the pilot…Alfred, was it?  We can afford to lose him now that the prototype is done.”

The soldier saluted and walked out.

\--

Gilbert slept well that night, wrapped as tightly around Lovino as he was, though the other seemed glad to curl up into a small ball and disappear for a while.  He felt completely safe, like Gilbert’s arms could hold him together.  When he woke, it was with some small excitement, the feeling ripping through him with such intensity that he could ignore the pain in his ribs and the fatigue that weighed his limbs down. 

Most importantly, he felt _warm._

“Gilbert,” Lovino mumbled, finally uncurling so he could shove at the other’s chest.  “Gil, you’re crushing me.  Wake the fuck up and take me on my date already!”

Gilbert groaned but rolled over.

Instantly Lovino regretted it.  He huffed and prodded him again.  “No, come back, goddammit,”  He tugged at his arm.

Gilbert groaned again.  “Make up your damn mind.”  Blinking, he managed to coax his eyes open.  Lovino swam in and out of focus until he rubbed them with his arm.  “S’too early for a date.  It’s dinner, remember?”

Lovino frowned.  “Oh.  Then take me on a pre-date.  I just—I don’t want to sit around and feel anxious.”

“S’more like a pre-pre-date.”  He sat up long enough to crane his neck up at the crack in the ceiling where dawn just barely soaked through.  “You’re up really fucking early…”

“Omph!”  A pillow struck the back of his head.

Emil scowled over at them, hair tousled, still in his pajamas and half wrapped in his blanket.  “I didn’t want to share my room with you in the first place.  Don’t make this worse.”

Gilbert groaned, “Well, there’s always the berth.”

“Don’t even.  _You_ go to the berth and sleep on those stupid swinging hammocks.  I’ll stay in my own damn room.  Now shut the fuck up.”  Now without a pillow, he huffed and used his arms, drawing up the covers up past his head.  “Assholes.”

Gilbert prodded Lovino somewhere through a yawn.  “Reminds me of you…”

The two drifted off back to sleep eventually, Gilbert burying his face into Lovino’s neck, arms wrapped around him from behind to press him close to his chest. 

It was Tino who wandered down a few hours later, when the sun was bright.  “Up and at ‘em.”

They emerged to Lukas giving Berwald very specific instructions out on the deck. 

They’d already entered Volare sometime in the morning.  Mathias was infinitely amused at what amounted to a ‘bumper sticker’ on the hull of their ship, stating their rights to do trade within the borders of the Grounded Tier.  The weakened pirate sat out on a chair that Lukas had provided, shivering due to lack of muscle, even huddled beneath his captain’s coat, a long gold-trimmed blue garment.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to be gone,” Lukas continued.

Berwald met all of his sentences with a quiet, intense nod, sometimes grunting.

“So, he’s going to need at least five meals a day, small portions.  Stuff that’s easy on the stomach, so porridge, soup, maybe a potato mash—“

“You’re a regular old doctor, now!” Tino exclaimed.

“I had nothing better to do,” Lukas said.

“Don’t act so nonchalant about it,” Emil muttered.

“Anyway,” Lukas continued, “Once he’s feeling somewhat stronger, he’s going to have to go through some intense rehabilitation.  Walking first.  Then other things.  I won’t answer to a captain who can’t steer his own ship.”

Mathias coughed at him with a little pout, “H-hey now!”

“It’s for your own good,” Lukas said, “Berwald’s in charge while I’m gone.”

“Just kill me now,” Mats groaned.  “He’s so damn strict.”

“Good,” Lukas said.

Mats crossed his arms at them and shifted in his seat.  “Okay, but, it was that asshole who decided parking my beloved ship in the sea was a good idea.  _The sea_!  Oh god, it’s like he was _trying_ to destroy my heart and soul.  Leave you guys unattended for even a second and—“

“Three years,” Emil said, frowning.

Mathias matched his frown, growing quiet again.  He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed.  “W-whatever.  While I’m getting back on my feet—literally—Ber over there is scraping off the rest of the barnacles because fuck that shit.”

Berwald looked at Emil, “Delegating that t’ you.”

Emil protested loudly.

Mathias ignored them and continued, “AND, you will write my ship a letter of apology—“

“S’ridiculous,” Berwald said.

“A heartfelt letter in your best handwriting, to be read aloud at its re-christening as an _air_ vessel.”

Tino laughed to himself.

“Oh you think I’m joking—“ Mathias exclaimed.  “All three of ye—except Emil because he’s my little bro—all two of ye are evil, horrible people.”

“Don’t just claim people as your brother,” Emil said, looking away to hide his blush.

“ _But broooother,_ come and get a hug!” Mathias made grabby hands without actually moving.

Lukas imitated him, looming up at him until Emil dashed away.

Gilbert cleared his throat to get Tino’s attention, “Um, we’ll get out of your hair a little while and explore Volare.  I know that Lukas needed a day to take care of everything.  We’ll be back before the sun sets.”

Tino nodded, “Good.  We’ll help you to the air taxi sometime bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Arthur, sitting not too far away, glanced over at the pair.  “Be careful.”

\--

After a thorough scrubbing—demanded by Lovino who felt gross and greasy—the two departed in their normal clothes.  Lovino picked at the hem of his shirt, self conscious in that it had started to fray and was stained in a dozen places. 

Gilbert took his hand in his for the sole purpose of distracting him.

“Wonder what it’s like to actually own more than one and a half pairs of clothes,” Lovino said. 

Gilbert laughed, “I’d still dress shitty, even with options.  This way it’s an excuse.”

“Like I’d let you leave the damn house—“

They made their way through an alleyway comprised of low, grey stone walls, infiltrated nearly completely by vines.  Purple flowers bloomed periodically.  The houses were much the same, open to the air for the most part and overtaken by plantlife. 

In the quiet of early morning, the sun carefully picked apart the shadows while cats lazed about porches amid potted plants and rocking chairs.  The people that were in the streets had the luxury of a relaxing morning, though most remained indoors.  The scent of baking bread wafted through the air.

Lovino inhaled deeply, losing himself for a second to the sights and smells and the warmth of Gilbert’s hand. 

Gilbert gave his palm a little squeeze.  “Feeling better?”

“S’good to get out,” Lovino admitted.

“Yeah,” Gilbert agreed.  “Hm, tilt your head back, close your eyes, and take a few deep breaths!  You need to relax.”

Lovino obliged.  He released the breath gradually.  While he was distracted, Gilbert leaned over and pecked at his cheek.  He started walking before Lovino could react.

They climbed a gradual hill, taking crumbling stairs a few at a time.  As they reached the center of the town, the vineyards thinned out into little garden communities which grew more and more clustered with each block.  There was no real organization, just houses built into twisting shallow alleyways.

By the time they reached the center--a circular little gathering area paved with flat, irregular rocks--the two were sweaty and out of breath.  A huge fountain, covered in moss and smoothed over by age, gurgled in the center.  Water splashed down five tiers which grew in size as they descended, the largest ten feet in diameter.  Lovino rushed toward it to splash water into his face.  Gilbert followed suit.

“So this is Volare,” Lovino said, water dripping down his nose.  He wiped at his eyes with a sleeve.  “Think I’d _remember_ more about it…”  A hint of uneasiness ghosted across his face.  He glowered at a tree nearby.

Gilbert shrugged, “The past is the past.  Explore it with me.  I’ve never _been_ here—like my idiot brother grew up here, but me?  Not so lucky.”

The pair sat together on the ledge to listen to the water gurgle.  Seeing that Lovino had his eyes closed and head tilted back again, Gilbert leaned over to kiss his lips this time.  Lovino floundered a bit, caught off guard, nearly falling backwards into the water before Gilbert caught him and pulled him to safety.

“Don’t go falling into fountains,” Gilbert said, kissing his lips again now that he was safe in his arms.  “If anything, I want to be the one who pushes you in.”

Lovino slapped at his chest.  “Bastard!  I’d push you in first.”

Smirking, Gilbert set Lovino back on his feet.  Periodically, as they walked, he glanced back at him as if trying to gauge his reaction.  Lovino was putting forth his best effort, but there was something undeniably off about him.  Gilbert hoped it was just anxiety about the future and not something worse.  Still, he slapped on a quiet smile as if hoping that Lovino would reciprocate.  _You deserve better than all this shit lately_ , he thought, reaching back to take his hand.

They spent the morning in this fashion, wandering in and out of alleyways, keeping their heads down when people filled the streets to go about their daily business.  Though there were cars in the city, the primary mode of transportation was by foot.

 It seemed this little town thrived on inner trade, with most people working the vineyards to produce the wine that was sold both in the marketplaces and for exportation.  At one location, Gilbert was able to buy some sweet bread, which was fairly plain but aromatic and fluffy.  Other venders sold cloth that they’d woven from sheep’s wool. 

They stopped in a second little marketplace, which seemed like it was set up on a whim in a bulge of a street.  Here, Gilbert bought some candied nuts.  He popped one in Lovino’s mouth, grinning when the other rolled his eyes with delight and demanded more.  He fed them to him one by one until the other grew impatient and snatched the bag away.

“The hell you get the money for all this anyway?” Lovino demanded as he chewed.

Gilbert stole a few and ate them one by one.  “From that heist with Antonio.  Been keeping it in my sock.”

Lovino pulled a face.  “That’s disgusting as hell.”

“Kept it safe though!” Gilbert said. 

“Yeah because no one is going to steal foot-money.”

“Damn right!  So stop your bitching!”

Yawning, Lovino leaned against Gilbert and looked around.  He pointed to a tower, similar to the ones sprinkled periodically throughout the town.  They mismatched the architecture, brass and tall compared to aged stones.  The tip was a circular globe which shined dully in the sunlight.  “The hell are those ugly things?”

“Conduction towers?” Gilbert guessed.  “Powers the city with electricity or some kind of energy, I think.  Volare is famous for them…but some other big cities are playing copy-cat.”

Lovino blinked.  “Oh.  Well I haven’t seen shit like that in Rüs…”

“Rüs still operates on steam and oil,” Gilbert said.  “But places like this, you just turn a little switch and instant light.  Wish I could get my hands on that kind of technology.  Imagine what I could build.”

“That shit sounds dangerous,” Lovino mused but he shrugged then pointed to the little doorway in the base of the nearest tower.  “You can climb inside?”

“Seems like it,” Gilbert said with a little hum.  “Probably not a great idea.  Seems a bit cramped.  Might get electrocuted.”

“Elec…trocuted?”

“Like lightning,” Gilbert explained.

Lovino blinked.  “Oh.  Well fuck that shit…” 

He glanced away with a little shudder until Gilbert squeezed his hand in his own.  “Hey, let’s go get something to eat.”

They ate an early dinner at a little café spilling out over a sidewalk from a little hole in the wall establishment, the owner cooking in a series of cast-iron pots which he added and removed from a little brick chamber built into the wall.  A fire blazed red hot in the back.  The heavy iron door screeched as he opened and closed it.

The cook set the pot down onto the table with just a thick rag as a buffer, and another to safely remove the lid, which he did for them.  Inside, vegetables steamed in their own juices, lending and taking flavor from a hunk of tender, loose meat. 

“My name is Toris.  If you need anything, please shout,” he said with a quiet bow.  He poured wine into glasses and left.  He seemed meek, but stood tall as he gave firm orders to the rest of his staff, a crew which looked like they could have been his family.

It was still early, so only a few other diners chattered around them.  Gilbert found it easy to drown them out, their conversations quiet and pleasant enough and the buzz in his skull spreading warmth to his fingertips.  He stared into Lovino’s eyes, watching him as he took small sips, unsure of the flavor of the wine.  For all Lovino’s chatter, he still seemed uncomfortable, like the anxiety still crushed him no matter how he tried to distract himself.  With a pang of sadness, Gilbert redoubled his efforts.

“So?”

Lovino swallowed.  “Tastes weird, but I like it.”  He pursed his lips, “Actually it’s good as fuck.”

“Talking about me or the wine?” Gilbert joked, smile coy.

Lovino threw a breadstick at his head.  Several people glanced over.  He whistled as if nothing happened, but kicked Gilbert’s shin to reinforce his punishment.  “Don’t be a smartass!” he hissed, biting his lip.

This only encouraged Gilbert more.  “I’m just sayin’ that maybe I’m intoxicating and you love it!”

“You’re full of yourself!” Lovino quipped.  “But sure, if we wanna say fruity—“

“I was thinking more…sophisticated—“

“Don’t make me laugh!”  He did laugh, though, despite his attempts not to.  It bubbled out, free and unhindered.  He slapped a hand to his mouth.

Gilbert snapped his fingers and grinned, “There it is!”

“Asshole,” Lovino said once he’d quieted down. 

“Can you really blame a man for loving your laugh?  It’s like a rare bird sighting.  Wouldn’t say _majestic_ though.  Just rare!”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Gilbert snorted to himself.  “Think I drank too much wine on an empty stomach,”

Lovino took a long swig.  “No, you’re just naturally weird.”

“Slow down!” Gilbert warned once Lovino set his glass down, three quarters empty. “Eat some food.  S’not the kind of date where you get wasted.”  He waggled his eyebrows, “Maybe another time!”

“Says the guy who’s already halfway there,” Lovino said, transferring meat and vegetables to his plate. 

Toris had come back with some fresh baked bread and jam.  Lovino used a knife to liberally spread a blackberry paste onto a slice and took a huge bite.

Laughing, Gilbert reached over to wipe at Lovino’s lips with a napkin.  “You’re a fucking mess, Lovino.  But I guess it makes you a lot of fun.”  He sighed, content, and ate his fill. 

The stares from the café quieted down, though some people left to avoid the rambunctious table.

“I like this place,” Gilbert said at length.  “Be a kickass place to live.”

Lovino nodded a bit, “Assholes have it restricted though.”

“True.” Gilbert said.  He shrugged a little, “What can ya do.”

“I thought being here would trigger flashbacks,” Lovino said, “But not really…”  He stuffed a carrot in his mouth and chewed.  It was tender, spiced just so, savory.  His brow slowly furrowed.

Gilbert took it as a sign that he did not wish to pursue that line of conversation.  “What kind of place would you live if you had the choice?  And don’t say the pirate ship!  That doesn’t count!”

“Well fuck you!  What else is there?”

Gilbert shrugged, “Hell if I know.  But I don’t picture little babies running around a fucking flying ship—“

“ _Babies_?”

“…Yes?”

Lovino blinked but laughed a little bit.   “Sure whatever.  But don’t just pick up any random baby off the street.”

“What, you afraid they got worms?”  His cheeks were tinged pink with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

Lovino rolled his eyes.  “They might!”  He shook his head a bit and, gnawing at a stick of bread, glanced around. 

It was evening already, though he had not noticed the time pass since the morning, as natural as it was to just spend time with Gilbert.  Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the company but Lovino had never felt so content in his life--the anxiety finally shoved into the back of his mind where the worries of tomorrow could not quite reach him.  He felt himself smiling dozily over at Gilbert.

Gilbert paid for the meal when Toris returned.  The cook seemed more than grateful to get them out of his hair, as indicated by his clipped tone and violent wringing of his hands.  Gilbert grinned uneasily at him but ushered Lovino out onto the street.  They rested at the same fountain as before, neither quite knowing what to say but seeing no real need for words.

At this hour, as the sky continued to pale in the wake of a slinking sun, the people were out in full force, the square more lively than it had been before.  Amidst dancing and stringed instruments thrumming out pleasant tunes, beads of light swayed in a slight wind, casting a lambent glow across faces and the colourful fabrics of spinning dresses.  Gilbert found himself tapping his foot to the beat, his hand rubbing at the small of Lovino’s back.  He hummed along though he did not know the tune.

Lovino looked over at him.  His skin was illuminated just so, his cheekbones sharper in the contrast of light and shadow, but eyes shining brightly.  His hand slipped into Gilbert’s free hand and his fingers laced over his knuckles.

Lovino leaned forward just enough that his breath was warm on Gilbert’s ear.  “Don’t let it go to your head, but I think I love you.”

The smile froze on Gilbert’s head but softened to something sweeter.  His lip quivered a bit and he pulled Lovino tight onto his chest, if only to bury his nose into his neck.  Lovino felt something wet.

“O-Oi are you _crying?_ ”

“H-hell no,” Gilbert whined.  He sniffled a little bit then released him.  “You can’t judge a man for getting a little emotional now and again.  God, Lovino.”  This time he gently took Lovino’s face in his hands, fingertips curling just into the corner of his jaw.  “I love you too, is all.  S’just been waiting fucking months to say it an—“

Surging forward, Lovino cut off his rambling with a deep kiss, his own hands finding purchase at Gilbert’s hips to draw nearer.  He squeezed a little bit then tilted his head for better access.  His tongue brushed his lips.  Gilbert opened his mouth with a little gasp, panting into him a little bit, but fighting back with teeth and tongue until the other was breathless in his arms.  He grinned against his lips but winced when Lovino nipped down.

They parted and looked away from one another as they caught their breath.  It was as if their display had been invisible.  They were but one couple in the grand scheme of festivities in the square, overshadowed by myriads of dancing couples the same way that the string lights were overtaken by swirls of galaxies and stars.  But, to Lovino and Gilbert, they were the most important thing in the world—bigger even than the task ahead of them.  Even if just for that moment.

Lovino leaned his head against Gilbert’s shoulder and Gil nestled his cheek into Lovi’s hair.  Gil felt himself smiling despite himself.

“Hm, Gilbert?” Lovino asked.

“Yeah?”  His voice vibrated against Lovino, an octave lower than usual but calm and safe. 

“Do you…let’s—I—“  He chewed the inside of his cheek, mind racing for the words he wanted.  “Alleyway—“

“—Alleyway?”  Gilbert pulled himself upright to stare at him, brows furrowed and eyes perplexed as he worked through what Lovino meant, clued in only by his intense, desperate stare.  “Alley…way?”

“Y-yeah—“

Something clicked.  “O-oh.  _Alleyway_.”

“Goddammit, hurry it up already,” Lovino muttered.

“Well excuse me for being confused by your arcane communication,” Gilbert scoffed, standing and helping Lovino to his feet.  They pushed past the festivities off toward where darkness crowded between two fairly large buildings.  It was clean enough—even lesser nobility had a penchant for upkeep—though crowded with stacked wooden crates, probably used for shipping bottles of wine.

Here in the quiet and stillness, Lovino was able to take a few deep breaths, ignoring Gilbert’s questioning stare as he glanced up at his face.  It was softly and meekly that he pressed against the other’s body to kiss at his lips, then his jaw, then his neck.  He took measured breaths as he did so, like a diver desperate to plunge deeper.  His mouth was warm, his hands cold and clammy.  Beneath the surface, his heart struggled to escape his chest.

Gilbert groaned against the wall and let his head lull.  It was best to just let Lovino explore for now.  He did not seem in an aggressive mood—and this sensation was so unlike the desperate, meaningless fucking from his time in the army.  Then it was just get in and get out.  Lovino wanted to take his time.  His fingertips grazed his skin as if trying to memorize every scar or bump, prying into his buttonholes to get deeper, while he lapped and sucked at Gil’s neck. 

“God what has gotten into _you_?” Gilbert managed.  His voice came out in ragged gasps as his knees grew weak. 

“Don’t know—“ Lovino admitted between kisses.  “Just—got tired of—“ he sucked at his neck—“sitting around, I guess—“

Gilbert leaned back a little, torso completely exposed in the front.  “Well you’re going to have to fucking take responsibility to what you’re doing to my lower half, goddammit—“

“I’ll think about it,” Lovino said, blinking coyly at him. 

“E-exactly what did you have in mind for this uh—detour?” Gilbert managed.

Lovino shrugged, “Dunno.  Didn’t know we were following a set plan—“

Gilbert chuckled weakly.  “Guess not—“  Once he realized that Lovino would not shy away when he reciprocated, he gripped firmly at his ass, fingers squeezing and molding the muscle, then, ignoring Lovino’s lusty groan, pulled him abruptly into him for much needed contact.  He rolled his hips to meet him halfway.

Lovino bit back a muffled cry, but set a desperate pace with his hips, determined to keep Gilbert pressed against the wall, as if something like that could give him the upper hand.  Gilbert was thrilled to oblige, but even more thrilled with Lovino attacked his lips with sloppy open-mouthed kisses.  He moaned into him and squeezed his ass harder.

“Don’t you fucking ruin my one good pair of pants—“ Lovino growled.

“Then—“ Gilbert took a deep breath, eyes rolling into his head a little as Lovino’s hips crashed into him again—“Then take ‘em off—“

“Pervert!” Lovino squirmed out of his pants with a little whine, only pulling them half down so he wouldn’t lose them.

“Close enough,” Gilbert managed, fumbling with his own zipper.  “You’re so self-conscious—“

This earned him a knee to the groin.  He sputtered through a few curses, especially as Lovino lowered it so that his thigh ground into his growing need.

“Oh god oh god oh god—how the hell do you—know to do shit like this—you fucking bastard—“ Gilbert managed through a fresh string of curses.

“I spent most my life in a whorehouse.  I saw things—“ Lovino admitted.

“Okay, that just ruined the mood a little bit—“ Gilbert complained.

Lovino ground harder until his head fell back again.  “No it didn’t, you sensitive asshole—“

“See I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a promise of what’s to come—“ Gilbert managed with a crooked smile. 

“Oh my fucking god—“  The thief went back to rutting against him, mouth falling open as he worked himself into a frenzy, his fingers prying deep into Gil’s shoulders.  “Don’t be a smartass—“

“My ass is going to smart--?”

He flicked him in the face.  “It’s like you want me to kick you in the balls—“

“…I have no way to make that sound sexy,” Gilbert said.  “You win this time.”

“S’that mean you gonna shut up for once?” Lovino muttered into his ear.

Gilbert let out a rough chuckle, “Can make no promises.  Though—“ he made a grab for Lovino’s face, trying to capture his lips in another violent, sloppy kiss.  “Though if you _kiss_ me a lot—can’t physically talk and kiss at—“ he panted—“at the same time—“

Lovino wiped at the slobber trailing down the corner of his mouth.  “You’re sure making a valiant effort—“

“You know me—always attempting the impossible!”  He groaned again, but this time because Lovino started to pry his fingers into the muscles down his torso, exploring first with his hands then with his mouth.  It was all that Gilbert could do to tangle his fingers into Lovino’s hair—to find something to hold on to.  “O-oi, don’t _nibble_ so much—if you’re gonna use teeth then fucking _use_ your teeth—“

Lovino paused, tongue at his nipple.  “Won’t that hurt?”

“Yeah—“ Gilbert said, but he sounded desperate, “In the best way—“

“Fucking weirdo—“  He bit down.

Gilbert cried out then swallowed a fresh moan.  His knees buckled again.  “Yeah—like that—“

Lovino rolled his eyes a little bit, but he was smiling, more meekly than anything else.  “I’ve never really done much of this shit before—so—you’re gonna have to tell me what is and isn’t good…”

“You’re doing fine,” Gilbert managed.  “T-though you’ve learned a lot from _watching_ , holy _shit—_ “

He could feel Lovino’s cheek warm up against him, but that might have been because of his own body heat.  “I’m very observant…”

“And you call _me_ a pervert?”

“Thought I might have to learn this shit…I didn’t exactly have an abundance of career options open to me…til now.”

Gilbert’s grip softened in Lovino’s hair.  He found himself stroking where it had grown mussed, soaked with sweat.  “Well, uh, if it’s any consolation, I’ve never done anything like this with someone I actually _loved_.”  He pulled Lovino upright by his arms to look him in the eyes, smiling softly as his thumb stroked his cheek.  He tilted his head so that their foreheads touched.  “So…it’s different and new for me too.  Usually it was get in and get out.  Use or be used.  Didn’t much care about the other person.”

“That sucks,” Lovino muttered.  “I never had an urge to do shit like this until I met you.”

“In an alleyway of all places,” Gilbert said with a grin.

“Yeah, well do _you_ see an overabundance of beds around here?”  He nudged at him with a wry little smile, his knuckles curling into his chest, which was still heaving from both heat and desire. 

“Guess not,” Gilbert grunted.  “You wanna get a move on or what?  Done with this sapfest for now.  Save it for afterwards…”  He stroked at himself to regain hardness, groaning quietly but not releasing Lovino from his gaze, determined to peer into his eyes as he worked. 

He shivered deeply when Lovino licked his lips, staring back as his hands slid down his chest to help him with his need.  He got his hands around both their cocks and started pumping.  Their breaths mingled in the shared space between their mouths, but Lovino closed the gap, kissing passionately, finally taking his time to explore every corner of Gilbert’s mouth.  Then, moving down again, he lavished his tongue across one of Gil’s nipples then down the center of his chest to his stomach.  Gil twitched with a little gasp as he neared his groin.

“O-oi, I’m ticklish there—you ass—“

Lovino laughed to himself.  “Really?”  He nibbled there again.

“Don’t you dare fucking ruin the mood by being as asshole—“ His tone was pleading.  His hands were back in Lovino’s hair, nails scratching into his scalp, pulling, twisting as he slumped backwards into the wall—hips jerking violently at the first kiss to the base of his cock.  “You really don’t play fair—“ he whined as Lovino’s tongue swept up the base. 

“Maybe you play the tough guy too much,” Lovino muttered.  “All those damn muscles.”

“Leave my muscles out of this—a- _ahn_ —“  He shifted his legs open just a bit more to accommodate Lovino, whose hands gripped and dug into his inner thighs, mouth hot and open, tongue swishing across the underside of his cock then up to the head. 

Lovino shot him a devilish grin from below.  Gilbert’s breath caught in his throat, feeling it surge straight to his cock. 

But then Lovino hesitated, brows furrowing.  “Uh, about the penetration…”

“H-huh wha--?”  It took Gilbert a second to come down far enough to understand his question.  “Oh, shit, yeah—uh…”

“I know it in theory,” Lovino said.

Gilbert swallowed.  “We don’t have any lubricant,” he said.  “So, um, unless you want to take me dry and have me scream loud enough to ruin that party back there, we should—we should just wait on that for a better time when we’re more prepared.”

Lovino nodded.  There was some semblance of relief on his face, and Gilbert realized that perhaps—even if they had _had_ lubricant—the thief might not have been ready for that step. 

“Don’t just—don’t carry it around in your pocket?” the thief joked mildly.

Gilbert chuckled a little bit.  “I guess not!”  He petted Lovino’s hair a bit but reached his hand to pull him slowly to his feet and kissed him slowly.  “It’s okay, though.  We need to take things at the right pace for us.  No rush.”

Lovino exhaled.  “G-good.”

Gil grinned, “We can still make it good anyway.”  He kissed him again, “Anyway you want.”

“Then—“ Lovino thought it over, his cheeks growing red again.  His fingertips trailed idly across Gil’s chest.

The wait was torture.  Gilbert could not take his eyes off the way that Lovino’s lips were parted just so, the bottom plump but a little swollen.  Even as they moved with Lovino’s next statement, the desire to kiss the hell out of him burned through him—until it was all he could do to just stay still and listen.

“On the ground,” Lovino said.  “I—I want you to kiss every inch of my body—then we can—“

“Hump like there’s no tomorrow--?”

Lovino snorted a little bit, “So fucking eloquent.”

Gilbert smirked down at him.  “I’m the master of smooth.” 

“The day you’re the master of smooth is the day I start liking potatoes—“

“So I’m already smooth—“ 

Lovino pinched him, hard, and he took the hint and used his mouth for more productive things, like kissing Lovino full on the lips one last time before sliding down his body onto the ground.

Lovino joined him, shaking a little but eyes bright, lips still parted in greedy expectation.  He allowed Gilbert to push him gently onto his back and crawl up onto him, groaning deeply when the heat of tongue and teeth and lips scraped across his collarbone, weaving a trail up his neck and across his jaw. 

Gilbert nibbled on his ear a minute, muttering softly.  “God it’s not fucking fair how damn fucking sexy you are....”

“Creepiest shit ever said award goes to…Gilbert Beilschmidt,” Lovino managed with a choked laugh.  He reached up to tug at Gil’s crop of hair.  “Get on with it.  I said kisses!”  He puffed his cheeks out until Gil continued.

This time he went down his chest, spending some time at Lovino’s nipples til he groaned and writhed beneath him, then moved down to his groin.  Lovino struggled to catch his breath but kept still as Gilbert picked his way to one hip bone, gave it an experimental bite, then wandered down to his inner thighs.  He nipped and sucked, marking them for his own, then, disregarding his cock all together, flipped Lovino and started up the back of his leg to his ass. 

“O-oi—“

“You said all over,” Gilbert said, nipping again.

Lovino groaned but did not protest again, even as Gilbert started squeezing his asscheeks again.  A shiver ran up his back when Gilbert found his spine and methodically kissed and sucked up the bony extrusions, taking extra care to claim even the areas that were raised and silver from the whip’s lash. 

Gilbert reached his shoulderblades, straddling his ass, resisting the temptation to start thrusting—as Lovino groaned at the sudden pressure of his already hard dick into the ground—then kissed up the back of his neck.  He licked behind his ears a bit, letting Lovino turn beneath him so that he could find his lips again.

Gilbert lay flush against Lovino now, hips to hip, bulges pressed together.  He grinned just against Lovino’s mouth then scooted up to nip at his nose.  “So…is that good or do you need more?”

Lovino’s hands trailed up Gil’s arms to his shoulders.  “Hmm…”

He rocked to the side, taking Gilbert off-guard just long enough that he could swap their positions and slam Gilbert’s back to the ground.  “Yeah—this is better--“

Gilbert saw stars for a split second as he groaned deeply.  “You sneaky bastard…”

“Didn’t want you to squish me,” Lovino said with a cheeky little grin.  He started rutting down against him, brisk but steady, until Gilbert writhed against him and started trying to roll his hips up into him.  They moved as one—grunting as they clung to each other and worked themselves into a frenzy, Lovino’s eyes bright and Gilbert’s mouth open as he panted heavily. 

No words were needed.  Gilbert eventually grappled with Lovino enough to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him down just enough to feed on his neck, kissing and sucking like his life depended on it.  The warmth in his groin built until it was unbearable, but then all at once, through erratic thrusting and harsh gasps, he felt himself slip like his feet were knocked from under him.

He came heavily.  Hardly conscious, his hands slipped from Lovino’s shoulders about the same time as Lovino’s face crashed into his chest.  He panted there a few minutes, spewing curses without any venom, doused in his own sweat and sticky with his own fluids. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” Lovino muttered.

Gilbert reached a trembling hand up to pet his hair a bit.  A smile sprawled onto his lips of its own accord.  “Well shit…”  He hummed a bit and closed his eyes.  When he opened them he blinked and tried to sit up, half dragging Lovino up with him.  “Either that was so fucking awesome that I’m hallucinating or…”

Lovino turned.  “No, you’re not.  I see him too.”

Gilbert swallowed and held out his hand.

The metallic bird fluttered down from the wall of the alley to land on his finger then hopped side to side, chirping at him.

“Goddamit, Gilbird, you’re such a damn pervert…”  Still, he let out a breathless little laugh. 

“Like father like son…”

This only earned Lovino a thump to his head.

The bird lifted up his leg, burdened with a little scroll of paper.

Reaching around Lovino, Gilbert unfastened it and, sitting with Lovino leaned against his chest like a puddle of goo, he squinted to make out the curly script.  “Huh…Um, Antonio apparently is nearby.”

“Wha…?”

“I dunno, he just wants to chat in person, that’s all it says.  He’s outside of Volare.  Gave us a destination inside, which means perhaps he’s able to get into the city.  Unless he hasn’t _thought_ that far ahead, which is also possible.”  Gilbert reached blindly behind him for his pants and, juggling Lovino around in his arms, managed to dress himself.  He groaned when he realized he’d mismatched his buttons and had to start over. 

“We’re…going to go see him?”

“He says it’s important,” Gilbert said.  “Maybe they’re here to help us.”


	17. Like clockwork my ass!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I just finished moving to a new town and am pretty settled in. first day of my ph.d program starts tomorrow. time to science.
> 
> hope you are ready for the crazy pain that is chapters 18-20. 
> 
> relatively short chapter. nice try attempting to warn gilbert, antonio.

The ring was like a key that opened any door.  The moment the officials saw it glint on Roderich’s finger, they threw themselves to their aid, actually summoning a taxi when there wasn’t one to grant them passage into the Grounded Tier.  Antonio grumbled his complaints, only because he had to leave his ship anchored to the cliff face below, as his vessel would have raised suspicion in a prosperous city like Volare.  However, he cheered up as the taxi slowly expanded around them, rising upwards.

“I really can’t believe this,” Antonio said, rubbing at his jaw, crammed between Francis and Elizabeta in the crowded little blimp.

Roderich only smiled knowingly.  “It’s quite something.”

Antonio pressed his face against one of the little portholes that dotted the walls.  “João will be so jealous—“

“You’ll just have to tell stories that do this place justice,” Francis said with a little smile.  He squeezed Tonio’s knee, also watching out the windows.

“Well, he definitely is…uh…enthusiastic when he tells stories,” Lili said.

“Maybe this time he won’t have room over over-exagerate,” Abel agreed.

The two exchanged little smirks at their little joke.

“I am always 100% honest in all my stories,” Antonio protested.

“As you embellish the shit out of them,” Abel said.

The ship docked on the pier of the Grounded Tier.  Heavy iron gates barred their paths, even as they tumbled from the ship.

Roderich had to show his ring again so that the guards would heave the gates open.  The hinges screeched loudly.

“It’s getting late,” Antonio commented, glancing up where thousands of stars choked out the darkness of the night sky.  “I hope that Gilbert received my message…”

“Hm, if he’s alive,” Roderich muttered.

Abel took Belle’s hand in his own to help her through into the city.  “We’ll find out.  You told him the time and place, right?”

Antonio nodded.  “Unfortunately, on account of never having set foot in this city, I’m only hoping the map was accurate.”  He took this opportunity to remove the square from his pocket and carefully unfold it into a giant unwieldy rectangle, the center of which drooped down then started flapping in the sudden breeze.

Abel snorted to himself.  “You look like an idiot tourist.”

Antonio shrugged and traced out the route, lips pursed, then started wrestling with the map enough to fold it back into a considerably less crisp square than before.  He crunched it down with his hands with a little frown.  “Never can fold them back just right.”

Abel snatched it from him.  “You just wrinkled it up worse.”  He spent the next minute unfolding then refolding it perfectly, silently handing it back as he started to walk.  “Let’s get where we’re going.”

They found the winery with relative ease then gathered around to stare up at its domed ceiling.  The creak of wood and braying of donkeys indicated its activity, even at this hour.  The cloying stench of fermenting grapes clung heavily to the air. 

“Well, I guess we found it,” Antonio said.

Abel scoffed. 

Francis grinned.  “Should get a souvenir.  Volare is famous for its wine, you know.”  He sidled up close enough to pat at Antonio’s arm with a gentle murmur.  “It’ll be okay.  They’ll come…”

Abel pointed to where Gilbert and Lovino emerged from a side street, absolutely disheveled, lips swollen and collars drawn up high on their necks.  Lovino had dirt smeared on his face. 

“I see _you’re_ having a good night,” Abel said, though he approached to give Lovino a bit of a hug, shooting Gilbert a raised brow then scruffing up Lovino’s already matted hair.  He released the sputtering thief, who seemed more flustered than irritated.

Gilbert shrugged a bit, but he felt his cheeks light on fire.  “I—well _yeah_.”

“Fucking weirdos.  Did it in the street, didn’t you.”

“Hey, we weren’t raised in a _barn_ ,” Gilbert muttered, “An alleyway actually—a-and can you stop prying into our very private business—“

Lovino wished he could melt into the ground and never emerge.

“Really?” Abel asked, “Thought you’d be the type who would shout it out on the rooftops—“  He laughed a bit.  “I’m messing with you.  I don’t care what you do on your own time.”

“What _I’m_ more concerned about is why the hell you’re suddenly planning a massive take-down of the government as we know it—“ Antonio demanded, finally marching forward, face more intense than Gilbert had ever seen it, eyes a dangerous, flashing green.  “The plan here is to _not_ get violently killed.”

Gilbert took a step back.  “Hey, I’m a grownass man who can make his own damn decisions—“ he protested.  “And it’s either fight for our freedom or be slaves to the crown.  Maybe I’m tired of doing what I’m fucking told when it’s the opposite of what I believe.” 

Lovino gnawed as his lip with a long sigh.  “Look, Tonio, we wanted your help, not your opposition.”

Antonio scowled briefly at him, but even that softened when he saw the sudden fervor in Lovino’s eyes.

“You’re on board with this too?  I thought maybe at least _you_ had some sense…”

“I have powers,” Lovino said, “And I guess I have to use them.  No matter what the consequences—“

Antonio bit back his next statement and turned away a moment to breathe.  Francis patted at his back.

“Get back on track,” Francis muttered.  “That isn’t why we came.”

Antonio nodded and rubbed at his eyes a minute, then, with a groan, turned back and took Gilbert by the arm.  “We need to talk.”

“Then let’s talk,” Gilbert said.

“Alone,” Antonio said.  “Please.”

Gilbert sighed and, pressing a kiss to Lovino’s forehead, left his lover in the company of the rest of the crew so that he and Antonio could scope out a halfwall to sit on.  He could just barely hear Lovino tell Abel of his most recent adventures, voice raised in shrill excitement.  He felt a smile touch his lips.  It had been a while since he’d seen the thief this content.  The reason for this nagged at him, but between the wine, the sex, and now Antonio’s sudden appearance he couldn’t sort it out in his head.

“What is it?” Gilbert asked quietly, eyes still on Lovino.  Near, far, in moonlight or daylight, he was the most beautiful human that he’d ever seen. 

Antonio snapped his fingers in front of his face.  He flinched.

“Don’t get all dreamy eyed when I’m trying to talk to you.”  Antonio also watched Lovino as they spoke.  “See, the thing is, Belle finally was able to say a few words—“

Gilbert remembered with sharp detail all the confusing motions Belle had gone through that night in his room—eyes _pleading_ him to understand but frustration at her inability to communicate winning out.

“She—she did?” he asked, mouth suddenly dry. 

Antonio nodded, “She wanted me to tell you something.  She specified _you_ , otherwise I would be talking to Lovino about this.”

“I’m assuming it’s _about_ Lovino,” Gilbert said.  “And, um, bad shit.”

“No shit, I didn’t fly across this country to share trivial matters,” Antonio said, “Not with my brother juggling so many challenges.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose then shook his head.  “No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to be sharp.  I—I’m just—“   He drew a long breath and let out a humorless laugh.  “It’s funny, I don’t even know how to communicate this, because it sounds so _crazy_ and I’m wondering if maybe it’s all just—just silly stuff that got warped—“

Gilbert frowned.  “What _is_ it for god’s sakes, before you start speculating and shit—“

Pushing himself off the wall, Antonio gripped at it from behind until his knuckles turned white.  “Belle said something about that ring.  That Lovino spoke of it before…he lost his memory.”

Gilbert’s brow creased, “I’d gathered as much as that…I mean, that he’d said something to her before he lost his memory.  She…um, tried to communicate that.  But what did she say?  Specifically.”  He could feel ire rising in his chest.  It took everything to not grab Antonio by the collar and demand that he just spit it out.

“She…” He fumbled through a few words, starting to pace a bit, “Said he kept complaining about a voice in his head—“

“Oh god…” Gilbert said, glancing over at Lovino.  “That would—that would explain why he’s been jumpy…but like, that shit is for insane people, right?  The people they lock up…”

Antonio shrugged, shaking his head grimly and returning to the wall with anxious energy.

 Gilbert tilted his head up to stare at the stars, which bore back down onto him, heavy and infinite.  He felt just as small as he felt confused.  “He would have told me.”  He shook his head, repeating that statement with more force. 

“Then you would have thought it was crazy,” Antonio said, “Which…I really hope he isn’t.”

“Maybe it was just—I mean, he probably just was traumatized.  W-watching your brother get shot and your house burn down.  Could have been the stress—“

Antonio nodded.  “I just—I want you to remove him from this situation.  Get him somewhere safe.”

“For fuck’s _sake_ do I have to keep _repeating_ this?  There is nowhere safe we can go to escape the damn crown.  He’ll hunt us _down_.”

“Change his identity,” Antonio argued.  “He can be a permanent member of my crew.  You both can.”

“The king has spies everywhere,” Gilbert muttered, “They’d map his journey by the clocks stopping.  He has no way to escape them.”  He turned on Antonio, livid, but schooled his expression into something calmer.  “Please, if you are not with us, then you are against us.  If you must, then return to Kayma and let us do what we need to do.  You’ve seen his power in just a small fraction.  I’ve seen him do much more.”

“I will not leave,” Antonio said.

Gilbert tensed.

“But I will be…nearby.  The minute shit goes to hell, I’ll cut my way through a hundred men to protect him.  He’s a member of my crew, and by extension my family.  You too.  Even if I think your decision is foolish.  Just please, for his and _my_ sake, don’t let either of you get killed.”

Gilbert relaxed.  His anxiety escaped him in a long sigh.  “I—thanks—“  He swallowed, hard, and looked everywhere but at Antonio. 

“I’ve done and seen a lot of foolish things in my lifetime, but this takes the cake…” Antonio muttered as he pushed off from the wall to return to his crew.  He absently ruffled at Lovino’s hair, despite protests, but seemed more out of it than before.  Eventually he gestured Francis to walk with him and the pair disappeared out past the vineyards.

Abel sighed and wandered up to Gilbert once the coast was clear.  “Hn,” he grunted, mirroring the expression on Gil’s face.

Gil grunted back.

“What’s the schedule?” he asked.

“Lovino and I need to return to the ship.  We are returning to the Third Tier tomorrow.”

Abel pursed his lips then pressed them into a thin line.  “Good luck.  Keep in touch.”  He waved with two fingers then turned to wrap an arm around Belle.  “Exactly how will this play out?  Give me a timeline.”

Gilbert groaned a bit, “I’m not sure.  I’ll get you the details on the day of attack as soon as I can.  Gilbird can track down your ship.”

Abel nodded.  “Tonio will hate you if either of you get hurt.  That man can hold a grudge.”

Roderich, who was seated on a nearby wall with Elizabeta, cocked his head.  He was just barely within earshot, if he strained forward just enough.  “What in heaven’s name are they talking about?”  He scoffed a little bit.  “I’d almost think they were _up_ to something.”

Elizabeta furrowed her brow.  “Antonio is not a fool.  He doesn’t disclose information beyond the necessary components.  In other words, don’t worry about it.”

Lili joined them.  “Just sounds like a new adventure to me.  He’ll tell us when we need to know, if we ever need to know.”  She worked to smooth out her dress, careful to keep the ruffles from bunching up, though frustrated with the sheer volume of her skirt.  “Didn’t used to trust the man, but he’s definitely proved himself.  I like that about him.  Doesn’t _tell_ you to trust him.  He lets his actions speak for themselves.  Much better than people giving speeches and puffing themselves up but failing to sustain such claims.” 

“I sincerely hope that comment was not directed at anyone in particular,” Roderich muttered.

Lili shrugged a bit, her tone cold, “I was merely making a comment on Antonio’s character.  Anything more is a product of your own insecurities or faults.”  She slipped from the wall to speak with Belle and Abel.

The pair glanced back at Roderich then jerked their heads away again.  Abel nodded once, voice a low but incoherent rumble.  He gestured to Elizabeta and motioned with his neck to return to the ship.  As he turned, he reached over to shake Lovino’s hand, offering him a few quiet words.

“You’re crazy as hell.  Takin’ after your big brother.”  He gestured to himself.

Lovino, seeming startled at first, blushed a little bit.  “Well I’m adopted so.”

Abel only grinned a bit and mussed his hair.  “Good luck, kid.”

He flicked Gilbert in the head as they departed.

Gilbert waited until the entirety of the crew wandered down the winding trails back to the gates of the city, then started back up the hill with Lovino a step behind.  He made a grab for Lovino’s hand.

“Hey, Lovino?” he asked, as they walked.  Their shoes were muffled taps along the cobblestone.  A cat rustled through some potted plants on a porch nearby. 

“Yeah?”

Gilbert swallowed and looked elsewhere for inspiration, throat suddenly dry.  Absently, he gave Lovino’s hand a little squeeze, too aware that his own palms were slick and sweaty while the rest of his body shivered with an unnatural chill.  “Oh god, there really isn’t a…a normal way to say this…”

They took the side trail off toward one of the edges of the city, over where Lukas had docked the ships with the other trading vessels.  In the distance they could hear the creak of wood and the groaning of hulls.  A few traders sang on their decks, the odd beats echoing down in the city, audible once the festival music and dancing had subsided.

Gilbert sighed.  He was almost disturbed when Lovino did not even shoot him a questioning look, but just kept walking, eyes set downwards.

“Do you—do you hear, um, _voices_?  I-in your head?”

Lovino wrenched his hand free, breath hissing through his teeth as the color drained from his face.  “T-the hell kind of question is _that?!_ ”

“I just—“

The thief turned on him, expression caught between an agonized grimace and terror.  He grit his teeth.  When he did speak, the words were a jumble, all tumbling into one another like he couldn’t spit them out fast enough.  “Why the hell would I be hearing voices—a-and even if I _did_ why does it fucking matter anyway?  I can deal with my own shit—like what the _hell_ —Is this about the robot thing because I _told_ you I could fucking deliver—“

Gilbert stumbled back a step, blinking as he tried to process Lovino’s response.  “I—“ He clamped his mouth shut, setting his jaw, then grabbed Lovino into a tight hug, smashing his cheek against his chest as he kissed at his forehead.  “Lovino…I trust you.  I was just—Belle said you complained about something like that before you lost your memory.  Wanted to make sure that you were okay.  I wasn’t implying _anything._   Believe me when I say that.”

Hot tears seeped into his shirt.  Lovino’s fingers tightened into the fabric on Gil’s back.  “Well I’m _fine_.  Just fucking _fine._   A bit of anxiety before shit is _normal_.”

“I know…” Gilbert whispered into his hair.  “I know…”  He rubbed at his back a few minutes.  “Just, be careful, okay?”

Lovino’s choked out a dry little laugh that tasted bitter in his mouth.  “Of course…”  He pulled away just slightly, “Let’s get back to the damn ship.  Got a big day ahead of us and all that…”

“Yeah, we do,” Gilbert said.  “Don’t…want to overdo anything.”  He wondered if Antonio was right.  If they should turn back and make a run for it.

They made their way back to the ship in relative silence, Lovino kicking at little rocks and scattering sand as he picked his way alongside Gilbert.  They found the pirates lounging on the deck, having just finished a meal of roasted corn and meat.

Mathias was already fast asleep, still weak, huddled beneath his captain’s coat as Lukas looked on, absently poking the fire they’d built in the firepit. 

Lukas gave them a once over with a dry little snort then turned to Emil.  “Don’t have sex with people in public places, okay.  It’s dirty.”

Emil looked from Gil and Lovi to Lukas, mouthing hanging open.  “O-oi, don’t turn awkward shit into random preaching moments!”  His sour look turned offended.  “A-and like you’re one to talk—“

“Y-yeah, really—“ Gilbert exclaimed.  Lovino leaned his head against his shoulder and pointed to the ladder leading to the barracks.  He was too tired to even protest the unwanted attention.

Berwald chuckled quietly enough.  Tino had settled onto his lap, halfway out, Hanatamago curled up against his stomach.

“I’m an adult,” Lukas said coolly.

“So am I,” Emil said.

Lukas scoffed.  “Grow another two feet and we’ll talk.”

“He’d look funny with four feet,” Berwald muttered.

Lukas and Emil stared at Berwald as if he’d grown a second head.

“Was a joke,” Berwald said.

Gilbert took the opportunity to lead Lovino down into Emil’s room.

Neither of them really realized that they’d fallen asleep, clutching at each other on the slim bunk, since Lovino could not be bothered to sleep alone in his own bed. 

They woke to a pounding fist at some ungodly hour of the morning. Gilbert groaned loudly, throwing his shoe at the door with a screech, not fully awake.  Lovino yelped and fell from the bed. 

“Fucking _shit—_ “  Lovino curled into a ball.

The door swung open.  Berwald stood there, as stony as ever, hand raised mid-pound.  Lukas stood with his hand still on the knob.

“Soldiers are here,” Lukas said.  “We need to go.”

Gilbert sighed but twisted himself out of his bed.  His feet landed near Lovino’s head.  The blanket flopped down on top of him.  “…Seriously??  How did they _find_ us?”

Lukas shook his head, “Hell if I know.”  He looked at Berwald with a little frown.  “Help Mathias to relearn how to walk,” he said.  “Kick his ass if he’s lazy about it.”

Berwald nodded with a small grunt.  “We’ll take care of him.”

Emil rolled over in his bunk, finally coaxed awake by the commotion, only after the voices died down.  “The hell is going on…?”

“I’m leaving now,” Lukas said, “We talked about this.”

Emil frowned, “Oh.”  He looked away as he drew his blanket up to huddle under it.  “You better fucking come back, or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Big words,” Lukas said, “Wouldn’t dream of inciting your wrath.”  He punched at his shoulder a little bit, a gesture which mimiced more of Mathias’s style of brotherhood.  He also looked away with a small sigh.  “It’s not ideal.  Nothing has been ideal.”

Emil turned to look at him when he heard the tremor in his brother’s voice, not daring to believe that he was breaking down.  But, when he met his eyes, he saw no emotion there, expression carefully scolded into something businesslike, grim even.  Emil opened his mouth, searching for _something_ to say.  When he did speak, it tumbled out awkwardly, words half tripping over one another.  “Things will—things will get better.”

Putting his hand on Emil’s shoulder, Lukas pushed himself back off of the bed and looked to Berwald.  “They get worse before they get better.  But I think I survived the worst already.”  The stoic pirate nodded silently. 

“Lukas—“ Emil said, throwing himself off his bed as his brother started off toward the door.  He caught him in an awkward embrace, but backed off when the other tensed, offering a handshake instead and earning a little ruffle of his hair and a rare—albeit sad—smile.  “—I’ll take care of Mathias too…”

“Take care of yourself, as well,” Lukas said.  “You matter to me too.  Don’t let it go to your head, but don’t forget it either.”

Gilbert and Lovino followed Lukas out onto the deck where they said hasty goodbyes to Tino and Mathias.  Mats was situated on his same little deck chair, this time sipping awkwardly at some water poured into a tankard.  He’d fashioned a straw out of the same water-resistant paper that Tino had been making cigars out of earlier.  He looked absurd in a floppy hat made of woven grasses—to keep the sun from addling his brains, Lukas explained dryly.

Arthur hovered nearby, continuously glancing over the railing to check on the soldiers.  He half gnawed on some bread, but didn’t have much of an appetite.  “I hope they’re patient,” he muttered to himself, drumming his fingers against the wood.

“Good luck!” Mathias said.  “Oh, and Lukas?  Get back soon.  I’ll show you my progress!”

“I told Berwald to be a slavedriver,” Lukas muttered.  “So you better be pretty damn mobile when I get back.”

Mathias nodded, “I need all the support I can get.”  He beamed despite the fatigue already gnawing away at his senses, the energy from his breakfast already ebbing even just an hour later, though his stomach was still uncomfortably full even from just the little bit that he ate.  “I’ll be able to chase Emil around the deck in no time—just watch!  I’ll be so fucking awesome when you get back—so that means you _have_ to get back in one piece, because then it’ll have been worth it.”

Lukas nodded.  “Better work your ass off then.”

“I’ll be able to scoop you up in my arms and smooch you one real good—“ He continued.

If Lukas was embarrassed, he hid it behind a scowl, which he directed over at the side of the ship where he could hear the rattle and shift of armor.  The waiting soldiers. 

“Let’s get moving,” Lukas said to Gilbert.  “I told them five minutes.  They’re getting impatient.”

“They threatened to poke holes in my ship,” Mathias said, “Some people are just barbarians.”

“Like you,” Lukas said, supplementing his words with a short kiss which caught Mathias by surprise.

The other grinned and made grabby hands for him, but Lukas had already moved away.  “Hey, you can’t just be affectionate all of a sudden then walk _away_.  You are _cruel,”_ Mathias pouted.  “It takes me like twenty years to even get you to _smile_ at me, so don’t be so rude!  Not to mention the lack of free affection.  I’m literally starving over here--”

“Behave yourself,” Lukas said quietly, cutting the space from between them again to kiss his lips.

Mathias’s relaxed a little, locking him into place by wrapping his arms around his head like a child clutching a teddy bear to his chest.  “Hey, Lukas,” he whispered.  “I don’t mean to be weird or corny all of a sudden but…thanks for sticking it out with me.”

“We made a promise,” Lukas said simply.  His voice was muffled.  “I do not break my promises.”

“Then promise me you’ll come back in one piece,” Mathias muttered into his ear.

“I promise,” Lukas said, “Even if I have to drag my damn carcass out of that castle.”

Mathias felt a weak chuckle escape his throat.  He pressed a few kisses to Lukas’s forehead then released him.  “I knew I picked a good one—“

“Personally, I think you have shitty taste,” Lukas said. 

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Mathias whined.  “My taste is fucking amazing.  Yours is even better!”

Lukas allowed himself a little smile and poked his cheek just enough that he bent over to avoid his jabbing finger.  “I want a divorce.”

“You’d have to marry me first,” Mats taunted.  He lost balance and nearly tipped his chair, but Lukas was there on the other side to catch him, moving quickly the moment he sensed danger.

“I’ll think about it,” Lukas said as he flicked his forehead, “Weigh the pros and the cons.”

“Better ask Mommy-Berwald’s blessing first,” Mats said.

Lukas only scoffed.

By then the sun was already starting to reach as high as the Grounded Tier.  Its ascent up the Plateaus was always a slow one, impeded by a thick soup of mist that rose up from the chasm around it, which glowed white and impenetrable as it burned slowly away.

The soldiers below now jabbed their spears against the side of the boat.  It rang out dully in the harbor, such that the men on the adjacent ship crawled up above deck to glower down. 

Arthur darted over to the group.  “I think you misjudge just how much time you have to loiter here,” he urged, “We need to get moving.”

 “Okay,” Gilbert said, squeezing Lovino’s arm.  “Whatever is next is gonna suck balls.  But we’ll get through it.”

“They’d punish me for running.  Not you,” Lovino said.  “It’s okay though.  They can’t hurt me too much.  I have to remain useful.”

“At least you still _are_ useful,” Arthur thought with a cold shiver.  He wondered how long the king would let him live.  But it wasn’t as if he couldn’t return.  Not when Alfred was still there.

“Thank god for that,” Gilbert said.  He held Lovino at arm’s length, appraising him.  Licking his thumb, he reached to smear away a bit of dirt from his forehead then his cheek.  “Not that—Not that the way I see you is useful verses nonuseful.  God, I think I would have fallen so pathetically for you no matter what.”

“I know that,” Lovino said.

Gilbert laughed, “Arrogant much?”

Lovino smiled sheepishly, trying to puff out his chest but only succeeding in puffing out his cheeks.  Gilbert deflated them with either hand.

“I meant, that you see me as a person.  Not some part of a scheme,” Lovino finally said.  “The king is a fucking asshole who seems to think that people fit together like that.  Just bits he can arrange and rearrange if he manipulates us just right.  S’more to us than that.”

“It’s time to be as unpredictable as hell.  Throw him way off,” Gilbert promised, releasing him.  He jumped a little bit when the gangplank clattered down, forming a steep, narrow pathway from the deck to the ground.

Lukas led their party down to the ground, regarding the soldiers coldly as they threw him into cuffs.  He bent his fingers just right that the metal grew hot when they tried to jerk him backwards by the chain.  One yelped and released him.  Lukas smirked a little bit.  “I can walk on my own, thanks.”

Gilbert grunted, he and Arthur treated similarly; they did not resist.  Lovino was not cuffed, but one soldier boxed at him just enough to knock him to the ground then roughly tugged a blindfold over his eyes.  He was forced to stumble along blindly.

Seething, Gilbert counted the seconds in the absence of ticking clockwork as they boarded the air taxi that would take them to the Third Tier.  He grit his teeth when Lovino was thrown onto the ground.  Rather than struggle into a seat, Lovino lay slumped with his cheek against the bench, disoriented and blind.

In unison, the soldiers drew their malfunctioning timepieces from their pockets.  They stared in bewilderment at second hands that quivered in place.

 _Like clockwork, my ass_ , Gilbert thought, the revelation sudden and powerful.  He felt his lips turn into a thin, involuntary smile.  People are not clockwork.  They cannot be controlled.  Maybe that man who wrote the book was pulling some major strings, but Gilbert and Lovino were returning willingly and they had plans of their _own_.

 


	18. Now is the Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating twice within the same week b/c I've really thrown off the update schedule for this fic
> 
> first week of classes went well, by the way, and I got my first paycheck which means soon I will be able to afford a properly functioning laptop, yay!

Arthur was the first to stumble off of the taxi, and when he did he felt a sudden chill, as if the quiet muted even the torrent of water pouring down the channels around the island.  A loud screech marked the closing of a gate and all at once it halted into an equally deafening silence.

Arthur glanced at Gilbert.  “Something is wrong…”

“You get that feeling too?”  Though the shackles greatly limited his range of motion, he was able to twist his arm so that he could stare at the goosebumps rising along his pale flesh. 

Lukas glanced upward. “The smokestacks are spitting out something heavy…”

“Smokestacks?” Gilbert looked upward too.  “Oh shit, I didn’t even notice the castle _had_ those...”

“I guess the castle has been converted to a production plant,” Arthur remarked.  “It’s always had the stacks, I just…have never seen them in use.  Assumed they were for show…”  He coughed a bit, tugging against his manacles at the urge to wipe his nose—but finding himself unsuccessful and irritated as a result. 

The air was heavy with smog.  It spilled out through the courtyards and over the island.

“Look upward too,” Lukas said, nodding his head in that direction. The island above also vomited the pungent, thick smoke.

“Well shit,” Gilbert muttered.

The soldiers, who had been occupied with dragging Lovino off the ship, finally joined them, half heaving the semi-conscious thief along, extremely wary of him to the point that they were afraid to even touch him.  Lovino only puked a bit on the ground but hauled himself blindly to his feet, coughing heavily.

Gilbert moved forward and nudged his shoulder into his.  “Hey,” he murmured, “We’re here.”

“Thank fucking god,” Lovino wheezed.  “Flying without vision is so fucking horrible.  I don’t recommend it.”

“The blindfold is ridiculous,” Gilbert snarled at the soldiers, who only butted them with the end of their spears to get them moving again.

They walked silently to the castle gates, where the fog was the thickest.  Gilbert blinked back tears, hardly able to see.

The doors swung open, more audible than visible.  Feet thudded against grass.  Something clicked on.  Gears ground against each other and a pulley screeched. 

A heavy wind took Gilbert by surprise and, once the smog had cleared, he saw the reason why:  the king had constructed a giant fan locked in a wire cage, huge blades _whomping_ as they buffeted the air.

He stared at Lovino.  “My soldiers told me that he was coming back to me.”

“He came willingly,” Gilbert said.

“He never should have left,” The king responded, but he waved his hand like it was nothing.  “I will neither punish him or you.”  He glanced over at Lukas, who regarded him with cold hostility, barely contained within a taut jaw.  “And this is only because you retrieved my alchemist.”  He took a few steps forward.  “You look familiar,” he said to Lukas.

Lukas resisted the urge to spit at his feet.  Behind his back, his fists tightened.  “Can’t imagine why,” he said dryly. 

This the king waved aside also, turning to face Arthur this time.  “You—help my alchemist settle in, then show him your work so far and explain to him what I want done.  Maybe you can still prove useful a little longer before I have to throw you out.”

A shudder seized all of Arthur’s body.  He sputtered through a halfhearted response, bristling but unable to defend himself or protest. 

Finally, he stopped by Lovino, patting him just hard enough on the cheek that it sounded sharp.  “On the subject of your sneaking out, I thought we’d have at least come to an agreement by now.  I was hoping that you would see me as a father figure and not someone to disrespect in this regard.”

Lovino drew in a sharp breath.  “Don’t make up weird shit.  Punish me if you want.  See if I fucking care.”

Gilbert made a sound low in his throat.  He so desperately wished his hands were free so that he could wring the king’s neck.

The King patted him again.  “I already said I wouldn’t punish you.  The moment I realized you were missing, I made preemptive punishments.  In my experience, lessons sink in deeper if someone else has to suffer.”

Arthur jerked is head up.  “What…?”

The king waved a hand backward as he left.  At his command, the soldiers dragged the men into the hall by their wrists.  Though this room was empty—littered with gears like they’d left it—they heard the cranking of machinery, a dull chatter of voices, and the hiss of steam just beyond the wall.  The palace was unbearably hot.

One soldier unlocked their cuffs.  The minute that the chains hit the ground, two things happened:

Gilbert lunged for Lovino and ripped off the blindfold, seizing him into a tight hug and peppering his face with kisses—despite startled protests.

Arthur ran for the barracks, desperate to find Alfred, hoping, praying, begging to find him in one piece.

He skidded to a halt by the door and opened it slowly, as if he could somehow undo the damage he knew must have been done.  A strangled gasp ripped from his throat when he saw Alfred lying there, bandaged, hands and arms crisscrossed with a lattice of freshly oozing cuts.  But even more horrific than the scabs ripped anew or the blood seeping into his sheets--or even the bruises mottling what skin was still intact—were the bandages wrapped around his head, dipping down to cover his left eye.  Bandages that were slimy with blood, stained an ugly brown.

“ _Alfred—“_ Arthur whimpered, as if he felt the pain tenfold.  He took his hand as gently as he could.  “Goddammit, the hell could you let them do this to you?”  Trembling hands confirmed what he feared; he carefully removed the gauze and found that the eye had been gauged completely out.  The other opened but struggled to focus.

Alfred shifted a bit but sobbed from pain.  “Art…?”  His voice was as broken as his body.  “Did I die?  God you’re an ugly angel…”

“You daft fool, you aren’t dead yet…” Arthur managed.  He set the bandage aside, grabbing Alfred’s hand when he tried to reach up to touch the wound.  He found fresh bandages on the table beside the bed and, after dipping them in water, rewrapped the wound as best he could.  It was sloppy at best.

Alfred struggled through a few breaths.  His teeth chattered uncontrollably, face a deathly white sheet, tears dripping from his good eye.

“Arthur,” he managed through all this, “They took my eye.  They _took_ my eye—“

Taking Alfred’s hands to lay them back down by his sides, Arthur dabbed at some of the wounds along his face.  “I—I know, Alfred.  Please, please just…lay still.  You can’t…you can’t touch your wounds.  They’ll just get irritated then infected.”

“My _eye_ ,” he wailed, delirious.  His fever spiked til sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead.  He tried thrashing in his sheets, but they were more like chains than cloth.  “I—I’ll never be able to fly again—Arthur my _eye_.  It’s _gone_ how is it _gone—“_

Arthur’s tears dripped down onto Alfred’s face as he leaned down to kiss his lips as gently as he could.  The skin there was cracked, dry, and hot.  “Alfred, I am sorry.  I am so sorry.  But thank the gods you are _alive_.”  He took a little cup of water and dripped some water down into where his mouth was still parted.  “I’ll…I’ll fix you right up.  Don’t you worry.”  Though he tried to sound optimistic, he knew his voice was weak with hopelessness. 

Suddenly exhausted, he collapsed beside the bed, half hanging over it onto Alfred, even though the other had lost consciousness before he’d even finished speaking.  He sobbing into him a while, completely and utterly spent.

Ludwig, on the other hand, was lucky.  He returned to the room to find Arthur there, but said nothing, only moving to refill the water by the bedside table and set out new bandages.  He was also bandaged pretty heavily along his arms, but the bleeding had stopped.  A black bruise seeped across one swollen eye—only punched.

“He received the brunt of the punishment,” Ludwig finally said.

“Sod off,” Arthur muttered.

Ludwig nodded, “I understand your pain.”  He backed out slowly, but hesitated by the door.  “I have kept him stable for the past few days.  You have Feliciano to thank, mostly.  I will allow you to take over for me now.  He’s done nothing but call your name.”

Arthur finally looked over at him, seeing the extent that he, too, was bruised.  His features softened a bit.  “Thank…you.”

“Alfed is a good man.  I could not help but take a liking to him.  He did not deserve the punishment he received.”

“You say that like you _did_ ,” Arthur said weakly.

Ludwig shrugged a little bit.  “Maybe not, but I would rather shoulder the punishment than the guilt, if that’s what it takes to protect my allies.”

“You’re the reason we’re in this mess,” Arthur said, “You betrayed Gilbert.”

Ludwig stared at the ground.  “I did, and I can make no excuses.  I am trying to…make circumstances less complicated so that…it won’t happen again.”  He bowed his way out, awkwardly stiff and a little flustered under his stoic façade.  He left quickly once he disappeared beyond the door.

After some time, Arthur forced himself to push himself off of the bed and, giving Alfred one last kiss to the forehead and making sure he was well hydrated, he walked to the door.  “Alfred?”

No answer.

Still, he notified him of his destination.  “I’m going to speak with…with Gilbert.  Our plan is still on, regardless of this horrible situation.”  He snarled at nothing in particular, fists bunching up as he shook with rage.  “That man will pay for what he’s done.”

He found the group milling about the same room, with nowhere to go and no instructions on what they should be doing.  Gilbert paced by himself, occasionally stopping to peer out the window to check the smoke levels or pressing his ear against the wall to discern some of the clanking and screeching on the other side.

“What the hell is going _on?_ ” he asked.

Lukas raised an eyebrow.  “A great big party that you weren’t invited to.”

Gilbert cocked his head, “Wha…?”

“In other words, I don’t know,” Lukas said, lips pressed into a line.

He was exhausted, lids sagging, but every time he allowed his eyes to fall shut, he saw the room like it was that night, dark and full of what had appeared to be a jungle of exotic flowers—one of the king’s strange but fleeting hobbies.  The window he sat by was the one he’d wedged open, Mathias only a few paces behind him.  He remembered the smarmy bastard plucking up what looked like a giant red daisy and tucking it behind his ear.  When he touched at that spot in his hair, he could almost feel the petals there.  He shuddered deeply, teeth chattering just a little bit.

Arthur stepped in.

Gilbert glanced up.  “You’re as white as a sheet.  Where _were_ you…?”

Arthur shook his head.  “I-Investigating,” he said softly.  “Just investigating.”

Gilbert pursed his lips.  It was obvious there was something Arthur wasn’t saying, but he didn’t have the energy to push him, not as tired as he was.  “Well, then what did you find out?”

Arthur shrugged, “Took a peek through some keyholes on my way back here.  They’re mass producing your design.  Or something close to it.  Hundreds of men.”

“Holy fucking _shit_ ,” Gilbert exclaimed.  “The guy really gets on the ball with shit, doesn’t he.”  He shook his head, gaping, unable to process such information.  He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head again.  “Well, uh, that…puts us forward a few weeks, doesn’t it.  Did you see how…how _many_ they’d produced?”

Arthur shook his head.  “Just got a peek.  The room was so full of smog that I’m sure those men have carbon for lungs now.  Filthy as hell.”  As he spoke his voice grew steadier.  If he didn’t think about Alfred maybe he could pretend that he hadn’t—

His lip quivered a bit.  He turned abruptly, clasping both hands to his mouth as he swallowed a strangled sob.  He couldn’t let the others see him like this.

This time Lovino jolted his head up.  He’d been semi-conscious against a wall, hand still draped over a pile of gears that he’d been shifting around earlier.  “You’re not okay,” he said. 

Arthur shook his head.  “It—it’s fine.  Alfred is just in bad shape is all—but he—he’ll live.”  He hissed in through his teeth.  “It only fuels my hatred.  I’ll deal twice as heavy a blow now.”

“Why was he—why is he hurt?” Gilbert demanded.

“That’s…that’s the preemptive punishment…” Lovino said.

“It is what it is,” Lukas said, “But take me to him.  If we are to be allies, then let us be allies.”

“You don’t have to bother,” Arthur muttered, “It’s not exactly something readily _fixed_.”

“I do have to.  I owe a debt,” Lukas said.  He swept beside Arthur, the rest in tow, until Arthur scurried on ahead to take the lead.

“If that’s the attitude you’re going to take, I’d rather you’d not interfere,” Arthur growled.

“I’ll do as I please,” Lukas said simply. 

They arrived in one mass.

Gilbert pressed his forearm to his mouth and nose, stomach heaving from sheer horror.  “Ho _shit_ …”

Lovino took a step forward, as horrified as the rest of them.  “This is my fault,” he choked.  “So fuck you all, _I_ have to be the one to help him.”  His powers were slightly more accessible now, but in the haze of fatigue and a deep, writhing pit of anxiety tightening its grip on his stomach, he could manage just a spark from his fingertips.

Lukas seemed to understand and went to retrieve the contraption that Arthur had showed him earlier.  He studied it a bit then, shrugging, discarded it.  It crashed heavily, a few pieces scattering.  Stepping over it, he pressed his fingers heavily into Lovino’s forehead.  “Try it again.  My research to save Mathias caused me to dabble in many areas of magic.”

Lovino wanted nothing more to step back, but there was something oddly comforting about Lukas’s cold touch and the steady hum of his breath; he felt an odd sense of peace for the first time in months as Lukas drew into his head.  When he risked opening his eyes, he saw sheer concentration glazing over the icy blues of the other.

“There is still a wall,” Lukas said, “But it’s mostly…self-inflicted.  I can break it, but it would hurt you.”

“I—it’s fine where it is,” Lovino muttered.  “I just—I can handle that.”

“Suit yourself,” Lukas said, releasing him.  “You just need to calm down and focus.”

“So I really _am_ obsolete now,” Arthur said quietly.  He’d shied back to stroke at Alfred’s hair.

“Take it up with the king, not me,” Lukas quipped, stepping back to allow Lovino to approach the injured pilot once more.  “I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”  This room, at least, he did not recognize.  He knew if he kept a firm grasp on reality, he could keep himself from reliving too many memories.

Lovino did feel considerably calmer, but much in the way that a man feels when he is stranded in the cold too long and starts to fall asleep in spite of himself.  With a dozy sigh, he drew in a lungful of air and pressed his hand to Alfred’s forehead, hardly noticing when Gilbert wrapped around him from behind, resting a chin onto his shoulder.

“Lovino?” Gilbert said quietly.  “You can do this.”

“I know I can,” Lovino answered.  He relaxed just slightly into Gilbert’s arm, breathing in unison with him, drawing a rhythm from the solid beat of his heart, then letting the energy surge up.  It warmed him to the core.

It danced along his fingertips and along Alfred’s skin, skipping like little bolts of lightning then prancing like inchworms down his arms before burrowing into his skin.  Before their eyes, cuts began to close up and scars started stitching themselves along Alfred’s bloodied skin.  Bruises closed in on themselves, like flowers shriveling away.

Lovino recoiled as the last jolt of power leapt from his hand.  He was breathing heavily, blinking against inky spots pervading his vision as he sank into Gilbert’s strong arms—while, teeth grit, he clung to the wall in his mind, like a man pressing his back heavily to a door as an intruder tried to break it down.  Pain exploded in his skull, but his whimper went largely unnoticed as Arthur moved forward to slowly tug the bandages from Alfred’s face and dab at the blood caked there.

Though there was nothing left but scars on his skin, the eye was still gone, a hollow space beneath his lid.  Arthur nodded grimly.  “Some things can’t be healed.”

“Can’t create something out of nothing,” Lukas reminded him.

“At least not in alchemy…” Arthur murmured.

With a small sigh, Alfred snuggled deeper into his covers.  What had been a deep sleep had lifted into a light one.  Arthur pressed a finger to his own lips, but removed it to gently kiss Alfred’s lips.  “I love you,” he whispered onto the dry skin, “It’d be hard for me to say something like that when you’re conscious.  But maybe you can still _hear_ me for gods sake.  Don’t you dare scare me like that again, you damn fool…”

Gilbert turned Lovino in his arms, shaking his head in bewilderment.  “You just—every time you prove yourself a little more fucking amazing—how the hell am I supposed to compete with that shit?”

 _Hello_ _Lovino_ , the intruder said behind the wall.  Or prisoner.  Lovino didn’t know which.  Maybe _he_ was the prisoner.  The realization jolted through him, not like lightning so much as ice cracking beneath him.

He couldn’t gasp down air fast enough.  He burrowed into Gilbert’s chest and steadied himself against his heart.

“Lov…ino?” Gilbert asked.  He held him that much more tightly, one hand firm at his head to press him close.  “I’m noticing a pattern…with your powers…and these weird attacks.”

Lovino shook his head.  “Everything is fine.”

Gilbert frowned a bit and looked at Arthur for help.  The other was too preoccupied with Alfred, and Lukas stared pointedly out the window.

“Now we can move forward,” Lukas said finally.  “So we can leave.”

“Then someone go find the king and ask him what the _fuck_ is going on,” Gilbert snapped.  Nerves frayed, he buried his nose into Lovino’s hair and focused on his scent. 

Arthur groaned a little bit, “He’ll find us in due time…”

“Maybe,” Lukas said.  “Or maybe not.”

“If I go request an audience alone with him, what are the chances that I will return alive?” Arthur demanded.  “Remember?  Obsolete?”

“Find a way to make yourself relevant,” Lukas said.

“I am relevant,” Arthur muttered, “Just apparently not to the right people.”  He stood and shook himself off.  “Fine.  I’ll go.”  He tore out.

Gilbert frowned grimly and released Lovino by just a few inches.  “We better follow…”

Lukas nodded.  “If necessary.”

They caught up at a mid-jog, filling in the space around Arthur and walking in complete silence.  Lukas closed his eyes as they passed through the mirrored hall, one hand tightening a sudden grip on the back of Gilbert’s arm. 

He’d dragged Mathias through that hallway.  Seen his body convulse and writhe into infinity no matter where he looked.  There was only the copper stench of blood and the splintered whine of his voice.

He urged Gilbert to walk faster with a sharp push that sent him stumbling forward a bit.  By the end of the hallway, they were pulling Lukas along, his cold composure collapsing in on itself as he struggled to stay upright. 

 _He’s fine_ , Lukas reminded himself.  _He’s fine and you’re fine._ He repeated this in an endless mantra, matching the words to the hurried tap of his shoes and the chattering of his teeth.  As they tumbled out, he was able to wipe the sweat off his forehead and glower into the distance to discourage questions or sympathy.

The others were too focused on their task to much care, as they found themselves face to face with the king, who was dining with a few of his high ranking officers. 

“Ready for the grand tour?” The king asked, shoving himself up from the table.  He’d changed into a uniform suited to a mechanic out in the plane-ships, similar to what Arthur used to wear back when he worked with Alfred’s plane.  It was smeared with oil.

Gilbert nodded but kept a comforting grip on Lovino’s arm.  “I need to see what kind of progress we’re looking at,” he said.

“You were gone for what, a week?” the King asked.

 “A week and a day.”

“I would have preferred your presence during this key stage of operation, but the notes you left were very detailed and sufficient for the more mechanically inclined of my men, including myself.”  He put an arm around Gil’s shoulder, effectively driving Lovino and Arthur back a few footsteps, either uncomfortable about his sudden proximity.  “I think even you would be impressed by the system I’ve set up for this.”

He led them down the hall, past the mirrors again, and back into the banqueting halls.  With a key, he was able to open the doors.  The soldiers didn’t bother to look up at him, but continued their work, lines and lines of them each with a tool and a single task.  This repetitive motion allowed the first soldier to combine two lowly parts, pass it on to the next for the subsequent part, and on and on until the last soldier—way down the line—secured the last panel to the finished robot.  A few boys, couriers probably, dragged the heavy robots out toward the balcony, draping them one over another.

The men worked like machines in an assembly line.  Part after part.  Motion after motion.  Endless, monotonous production.  They worked bleary eyed and tired, grease smudged under their eyes, watering from smoke.  A separate line worked toward creating the parts used in the actual production lines.  These men worked out on the balcony, pouring hot metal into molds and allowing them to set.  This was where much of the smoke came from. 

“I have this line working here and a second similar line on the Fourth Tier,” the King said.  “I would say we have reached upwards of 500 robots by now!”  He paced up and down the row, checking on his men. When he snapped his finger, a courier made his rounds with some water.  “I have to halt production for five minutes now and again for meals, but this really is the most efficient way to get anything produced en masse.  Such a process really doesn’t take much thought at all either; men are much more efficient as machines.”

“Have they been working endlessly?” Gilbert asked, staring at what looked more like zombies than men. 

“It’s good for them,” The king said with a shrug. “I am not terribly pleased about the smoke ruining my gardens, but I admit that I have been meaning to start over with them anyway.  I’m a bit of a landscaper as well.”

The answer to a question I didn’t ask, Gilbert thought.

“Holy shit…” Lovino muttered, blinking out of his haze.  He felt an odd thrill at the prospect of so many soldiers.  Soldiers that he could hopefully control.

 _If you want to risk it_ , the voice reminded him.

“I’m stronger than you,” Lovino muttered to himself.  The clank of metal and click of parts hid his voice. 

 _True_ , the voice admitted, _But no one is strong forever.  Better not let yourself become sleep deprived._

“Shut the fuck up.”

This time Lukas heard him, only acknowledging his outburst with a little raise of his eyebrows.  He moved on to investigate the finished project, fingers ghosting over the panels with a little hum.  “I don’t understand machinery much,” he admitted to Arthur, who followed.  “That is where your usefulness will be ensured.”

Arthur blinked.

“I will maintain your importance in front of the king,” Lukas continued, “In that regard.  You will not die by his hand.”

“Why--?” Arthur managed.

“I do it because of my debt to the kid,” Lukas said bluntly.  “Never account anything a pirate does to charity, except to his own kin.”

“Understood,” Arthur said.

Gilbert was still following the king, wary of walking too close, but fascinated by the whole operation.  “So, when do you predict that…all of this will be ready?”

“A few days,” The King said, just as excited.  “For something on this grand of a scale to work so beautifully is highly encouraging.”  He made a gesture towards Lovino, “He’ll need to be well rested and fed for the Awakening.”

Gilbert nodded, “Then provide decent food.  For all of us.”

“I will do so,” The king said.  “Tell the new alchemist to work closely with him to amplify his powers.  I want these men to be self-sufficient, which is why I have optimized the design for the battery-heart.”

Gilbert nodded once.

He felt the prickle on the back of his neck like he was being watched.  He glanced behind to see Ludwig standing in the doorway, bruised but standing tall.  Gilbert narrowed his eyes in his direction.

Feliciano was also there, half hidden behind him, picking at the skin around his nails.  Once the king left through an alternate door, Feliciano squeezed in and approached Gilbert.

“All this is happening very fast,” he said.

“It’s going to happen even faster after this,” Gilbert answered.  He kept his voice clipped, still watching Ludwig from the corner of his eye, though the other didn’t move any closer.  “Exactly what is your part in all this operation?”

Feliciano shrugged, “I’m not sure.  I don’t think I’m useful to any of this.”  He glanced around, appreciating the progress, but resigned to the drudgery of it all.  “You’re planning something, though. You look way too pleased about all of this.  I want in.  I’m useful.  Can cut men down.”

Gilbert frowned, “You are friends with the traitor over there,” he said.  “I defended him once, but only because he’s my brother.  Doesn’t mean I have to trust him.”

“He’s not going to go running to tattle on you,” Feliciano muttered.  “From here on out, the two of us are taking a stand for what we want.  It’s very similar to what you want.  If you don’t want to trust _him_ , you should at least trust _me._   I’m the reason that Lovino is even alive today.”

Gilbert sighed.  “I’m not…cluing you in to the precise plan.  It’ll unfold as it does.  You and Ludwig can take advantage of the chaos and leave as you wish.  There will be no one to pursue you when we are through.  That is the last thing I will ever give my so-called brother.”

Feliciano squeezed at his arm a bit, a comforting gesture, his eyes soft.  “Thank you, then, for that much.”

Gilbert twitched the corner of his mouth into an obligatory smile that left no room for further conversation.  Feliciano returned to Ludwig, speaking softly to him as they left.

Lovino found his way back to Gilbert once Feliciano had gone.  “This is insane,” he said, “But holy fuck, I’m so glad that the bastard is doing all our work for us, the idiot.”

Gilbert’s lips turned up into a real smile this time.  “Soon, then.  A few days is what he’s saying.  In the meantime, let’s just…relax.”

The days passed uneventfully, the palace churning out more robots and the air thick with the heavy smog as it built up.  With a grimace, Gilbert realized that the Grounded Tier was probably choked out by now.  He wondered if the pollution would wound the crop or even drive the people out.  If they were lucky, maybe it would tumble down into the chasm and leave the town unharmed.

In the meantime, Lukas and Arthur had perfected the contraption that would help Lovino to amplify his powers.  A copper bulb planted on a little stand, it was much like a miniature version of the conduction towers found in the lower Tiers, used to spread electrical currents beneath the city.  Lovino would place his hand on the sphere and the energy would travel down to the base then through wires they’d set up along the floor, reaching charging stations hooked up to a hundred of the robots each.  He would have to hold and maintain his power long enough to fill the secondary stations, but then the power would be amplified enough to permanently charge each of the heart-batteries.

“Almost there,” Gilbert said, arms wrapped around Lovino, sort of rocking him from behind.  “We are seriously almost there.”  He had just spent the last hour explaining to Lukas in detail about the nature of the plan. 

The pirate had listened quietly, nodded slowly, keeping his eyes focused out of the window to prevent flashbacks.  “So you plan on overrunning them.  I’m not sure if there will be _space_ to effectively fight in these banqueting halls,” he finally mused once Gilbert had finished. 

“Hm?”

He gestured to the wall, where commotion still seeped through, then over to their banqueting hall where the robots had been stacked against the wall.  What was once tons of free space had been diminished to a little square.  The group was surrounded by hundreds of the robots, lifeless eyes staring.  “Look at all of them.  No one will be able to move.  It’d be like struggling through quicksand.”

“Huh…” Gilbert said, mouth falling open.  “I wonder if that’ll be a problem…”

“What do you think,” Lukas said simply.  “Be smart about your strategy.”  He turned back to the window where he’d been shredding up clovers that grew in little pots there. 

“Lovi,” Gilbert said, “You think maybe you can…tell most of them to get the fuck into the garden then have maybe just one hundred fight for us?”

“I—I guess,” Lovino agreed.

Feliciano bounded in.  “I _knew_ you were up to something!”

“Shit—“ Gilbert hissed.

“Should have checked for intruders,” Lukas said, dryly.

“I’m an ally,” Feli reminded them.  He brightened considerably when Gilbert said nothing further, then wandered over to the robots to tap at their heads with a finger.  He laughed at the hollow sound.  “I know how to fix your problem—“

“Okay, sure, but don’t go telling my damn brother about any of this,” Gilbert said.

“He won’t betray you,” Feliciano said.  “You going to listen to my solution or not?”

“Sure.  Shoot.”

“I break the robots that’ll just be in the way before they even leave this room,” Feliciano said.  He hummed with excitement, tearing through the room tirelessly.  “So just the right amount are there to fight the king or whatever.  You _are_ going to kill him, right?”

Gilbert nodded slowly with a guarded expression.

Feliciano’s lip quirked into a grim little smile.  “Good.”  He leaned against the wall near Lukas, but the other shrank back just a little.

_\--He’d run into the hall of mirrors just as Mathias had been dragged before the king._

_“Run, Lukas—you damn fool—I’ll catch up—get to the ship—“ Mathias had been thrown into the ground so hard that his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  Still, he coughed heavily and struggled upright._

_That’s when the boy with the blindfold had been thrust forward and the cloth ripped from his eyes—“_

Lukas tasted blood.  With a harsh shudder, he turned away completely and exited the room. 

Feliciano blanched.  “I…recognize him.”

Gilbert stood slowly and placed a hand on the back of Feliciano’s neck.  “Look.  It’s been made right.  Your brother fixed him.”

Feliciano allowed himself to breathe.  “Good…that’s a…that’s a relief.”

Arthur looked up where he’d been altering some of the wiring on his contraption.  It had shorted out the last time they’d tested it, but he’d located the problem within minutes.  Now he twisted the wires back into place.  “You don’t like being what you are, do you.”

“Would you?”

Arthur shrugged, “If it meant I would get some damn respect, then sure.”

Feliciano shook his head, “I don’t even get that.  Those who do respect me do so out of fear.  The others just take advantage of me.  My entire childhood I wished I had been born as my brother and vice versa.”

Lovino glanced up at him.  “You act like the damn Destroyer part of you is the only personality trait you have.  Ever stop to think that you’re a fucking human and that’s like one fucking measly little part of you.”

“It’s kind of a big part,” Feliciano said. 

“Still not the most important,” Lovino huffed, “Like my powers aren’t my most important part about me either.”

Feliciano surveyed the robots again with a bitter little smile.  He started absently untangling the curls around his ears.  “Well, right now it’s pretty important.  And I’m glad, because for once I’m using them for a good reason.”

“You are important,” Lovino said, turning away as the colour rose in his cheeks.  He huffed a bit, as if annoyed at Feliciano for making him sound sappy.  “And not just because you are useful to me.  So shut up about it already before I shove some dirty socks in your mouth.”

Arthur pulled a slight face but started to the door.  “I’m going to check on Alfred.  He’ll want to be present for the big…what was it that the king called it?  Awakening?”  He scoffed to himself and left.

Feliciano scurried after him.

“You better believe that about yourself, too, Lovino,” Gilbert said once the room settled into what they’d grown to know as silence; they’d trained their ears to not hear the commotion next door.  “About being important.”

Lovino shrugged.  He started picking at the sleeve of his shirt.  It had frayed considerably since the start of his journey.  “Don’t get sappy on me.”

Gilbert scoffed, “I’ll do what I want—“  He half pounced, half tackled Lovino, smushing him into a giant bear hug as the other toppled over.  He grunted heavily, but his initial shock was overtaken by a weak snort.

“You _ass—_ “

Gilbert smooched at his neck and behind his ear.  “Hmmmmm?  I’ll get as sappy as I want and you can’t stop me!”  He hesitated a little bit, nose nuzzled into his hair.  “But seriously.  You’re important too.  Because you’re Lovino.  And Lovino is a lot of things.  I mean, sure you have weirdass powers, but you’re also loyal, sweet—“

“Oi I am _not_ sweet—“

Gilbert pinched him.  Hard.  “The sweetest.”  He snickered a bit.  “Funny.  Energetic.  Really fucking agile.  Always take life at 100% no matter what.  Pretty damn smart. Very, uh, creative with language. Handsome as hell—“

“ _Manly_ —“ Lovino insisted.

Gilbert poked at his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”  He pressed a few more kisses into his skin.   “And maybe a little grumpy, a little abrasive, sometimes a little standoffish, but that’s still _part_ of you.  I’m not going to just love you for the good.  Because the good without the bad isn’t you.”  He started rubbing at his shoulders then along his chest.  “I don’t know where I’m going with this, to be honest.  I’m word-vomiting.”  He shrugged.  “I just love you, okay.  No matter what happens tomorrow.  I know you’re—you’re having trouble with anxiety over all this shit.  But I’m here for you, even if you don’t want to talk about it.  I’m just _here,_ okay?”

Lovino nodded slowly.  He felt his throat close up a little bit.  That strange tingle in his nose signaled oncoming tears.  He blinked them away.  “I love you too.”

“Want to find some food?” Gilbert asked, finally releasing him.

Thankful for the distraction, Lovino nodded. “ Hell yeah.”

\--

As time wore on, the group became more and more filthy.  Without easy access to a bath, they’d taken to dipping rags into one of the wells out in the courtyard and dabbing at their faces, chests, and legs to rub the soot out of their skin.

The King stood watching the group from his room, smiling a little to himself as he turned to one of the guards attending to him.  “They seem so carefree,” he said.  “I’m glad that they are putting up so well with this lengthy process.  Men who make sacrifices for the good of my nation are the ones who give me the most hope for the direction of the country.”

The soldier kept his lips clamped together, standing as still as other.  He had not been given permission to speak.

Ludwig stood at the door.  “You requested my presence?”  His bruises had started to fade.

The King nodded and motioned him over.  Ludwig stood by his side, also watching the group.  He hid a smile, amused when Feliciano joined them and splashed an entire bucket of water over Lovino’s head.  He knew better than to assume Gilbert didn’t have some kind of plan, but pride prevented him from asking about it. 

“The albino,” the King started, “He’s useful, yes?”

Taken by surprise, Ludwig nodded a little bit.  “He’s always been a talented engineer—“

“Too talented,” the King agreed.  “I was reading his notes for the designs.  He could be considered a prodigy, especially in combination with that Creator boy.”

Ludwig’s brow furrowed.  He wondered if the king was just musing to himself or asking him his opinion on the matter.

“But I know his history.  So, when the time of the Awakening comes, you will put a bullet through his head.  His usefulness will only be served to the extent that he answers to me.  He obviously has the capability to sabotage any of my efforts, as he has done in the past.”

“He’s my brother—“

“And Feliciano is your lover,” The King responded.  “Consider which you’d rather have, and think hard on it.  It’s for the good of the Kingdom.  That is what you swore your life to, soldier.”  He handed off a pistol to Ludwig, a heavy silver barreled gun with rubies crusted along the handle.  “You will use this.  It’s my best design yet.”

As Ludwig left, he was tempted to turn and spit all of the bullets into the king’s head but, raising the gun, found his head pounding and his arm shaking too much for a clear shot.  Jaw taut, he swallowed.  He could end this.  He could walk free once and for all.

The guard caught his eye, brow raised.  His hand strayed to his own gun in his jacket.

The King did not seem to notice the moment of tension, preoccupied with the group out in the courtyard still.

Tasting blood, Ludwig lowered the gun.  To do so would contradict everything he’d ever believed in.  Maybe if he was Gilbert, he could have done it.  But he was not.

He hurried out.

He was left to aimlessly wander the halls of the palace, resisting the urge to punch windows out.

\--

“It’s called bedrest for a _reason_ ,” Arthur chided, pushing Alfred back down when he tried to rise.

The other was stronger than him, however, and only redoubled his efforts until he was sitting up in bed, able to wrestle into a plain shirt.  Blindly, he patted around for his glasses, which were sitting on the table in his blind side.  It didn’t matter that half was useless, he placed them on his nose, one half covering the black cloth he’d secured over his empty socket. 

“You could buy a monocle,” Arthur said weakly, securing him by the shoulders even though the other didn’t really need any help. 

Alfred frowned.  “I think monocles are really cheesy.  I _like_ my glasses.”  He sighed a little bit and adjusted them a little on his nose.  “Stop acting like my mother anyway.  Whatever the hell that kid did, I feel amazing—missing eye or not.”  It was a struggle, but he flashed Arthur one of his optimistic grins, though it didn’t quite travel past his cheeks.

Arthur picked up on this but said nothing.  He only started stroking his hair.  “I take it that you’ll want to be present for the big fight, then.”

This time Alfred really did brighten, his hands clawing for the sheets to maintain his balance.  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!  That’s what’s kept me going, knowing that the king has no freakin’ clue what’s coming for him.  I felt like a spy holding valuable information!”

“Just so long as you didn’t _leak_ any of it.”

Alfred shook his head.  “Those men don’t know how to torture for shit!  Piece of cake!”

Arthur absently reached to touch at the black cloth but withdrew as Alfred tensed.  He looked away.  “Alright, then show me that you can stand, then eat the soup I made for you.  Today is the day.”

Alfred set a record for speed at which one could eat a piping hot bowl of soup without choking, even over lumps of potato that had not quite tenderized and carrots that were chopped into too large chunks.  “God, Arthur, don’t quit your day job and become a chef, alright?”  He sputtered through the last few bites and resisted the urge to gag.  “Damn that’s a lot of _salt_ —“

The comment only earned him a thump to his head.  “Shut your cheeky mouth.”

Alfred only opened it wider, presenting Arthur a full view of his tongue.  “Ahhhhhhhh!”

This time Arthur swatted at his leg, only shaking his head in amused resignation.

Clamping his mouth shut, Alfred pushed himself off the bed.  Though he wobbled a bit, he was able to step into his boots then squat down to lace them up his calves.  He took a few experimental steps before flashing Arthur a thumbs up.  “Looking good!”

Arthur nodded, “You’re definitely up and about.”  He accepted Alfred’s outstretched hand, allowing him to pull him to his feet as well.

“Hey Art?” Alfred asked.  There was a moment when he refused to release Arthur’s hand and the other tried to pull away unsuccessfully.  “After this is over—do you maybe want to, I don’t know, go on a date or something?”

Arthur hesitated but let their hands drop between them like a hanging bridge.  “After all this time and after all my rejections, you still mean to pursue me, boy?”

Alfred shrugged, “That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it.”

“Boys and their endless optimism…” Arthur muttered.

“Hey, you’re only five years older—don’t act like such an old man—even if you _are_ an old man—“

“Where _do_ you get your logic, I wonder,” Arthur said.  He sighed a little bit.  “I suppose, with the king gone, there would be no duty tying us together any longer.  And—provided the whole of the nation hasn’t collapsed in on itself in anarchy--I will agree to one date,” Arthur relented.  “But nothing fancy.”

“R-really?!”

“A picnic,” Arthur said.  “I really hate noisy atmospheres.”  He yelped as Alfred wrapped around him in a bone-crushing hug, but no amount of struggling could loosen his vice-like grip.

“Oh god, this will be _great—_ I am like the _king_ of picnics like I will single-handedly knit the blanket _myself_ if I have to—“

“You don’t know how to knit, you daft fool—“ Arthur managed, unheard as Alfred rambled on.

\--

Gilbert greeted Lovino that morning with a light kiss then set about scrounging up some bread and meat from the kitchen.  He made sure that Lovino ate at least five bites of each, even though he had to shove it in his face. 

“It’s important that you have your strength,” he explained.  He glowered at Lukas, who had only eaten a few bites at the most.

Lukas raised a brow and set the food down.  “You aren’t my mother.”  He did take the tankard of water though, and washed down a few pills which he kept in his pocket.  He’d been popping them for the majority of his stay here.  He yawned through the last gulp of water, but perked up a little once Alfred came bounding in with his coffee contraption in tow.

It gurgled cheerfully between them as the hearty aroma warmed the corner of the otherwise quiet room.

“What’s with the pills?” Lovino finally asked Lukas, now that Arthur, Alfred, and Gilbert were chattering away. 

“Anxiety,” Lukas answered.  He picked at the cracking skin on the bottom of his lip then set to combing his fingers through his own hair.  “Being here is difficult.”  In a rare moment of vulnerability, head turned toward the window, he let the coldness melt into a little sigh.  “I lost my lover in this place.  And by extension myself.  It’s like facing my demons one last time.”

“But this time you get to laugh in their fucking face,” Lovino said, accepting a cup of coffee when Alfred handed it to him.  He flinched a bit, though, at Alfred’s jerky movements.  The other was not used to life with only half his vision.  He’d already almost kicked over the platter of food sitting on the floor, his walk unsteady.

Lukas lowered his hands into his lap and thought this over.  A bitter little chuckle escaped his throat.  “Not just laughing.  Shoving their own medicine up their asses.  Teach anyone to mess with Lukas Bondevich or Mathias Kohler.”  He dumped a few shots of something potent into his own coffee.  The flask squeaked as he screwed it shut.

“Or Lovino Vargas,” the thief agreed.

“Oh--Gilbert Beilschmidt—“ Gilbert interjected, plopping down beside them so suddenly that Lovino was nearly bounced off of the bed.  “Wait—what are we talking about?”

“The losers club,” Lukas said.

“Rude!” Gilbert muttered.

“You’re the one who offered your name,” Lukas said, considerably more cheerful than before in his own quiet way.  “One more day, at least.  That prick Mathias better be at least crawling by now.”

“Probably running a marathon, if I know the guy,” Gilbert said, wrapping an arm around Lovino.  “Well, are we ready?”

Lovino nodded.  “Ready as I’ll ever fucking be.”

Lukas took one last full swig of his coffee, not minding that it burned his tongue or rolled sluggishly down his throat, as thick as it was.

The men assembled in the main banqueting hall in the space that they could squeeze into, but just out the window Lovino could hear guttural shouting and the creak and clatter of moving parts.  He squeezed past the piles of robots to stare at huge ships unloading more—the work of the Fourth Tier.  The men still wore their gas masks.

“Oh god there really _are_ a lot,” Lovino breathed, returning to Gilbert.  “Did you…did you send Gilbird?”

Gilbert nodded.  “Got an answer back, actually.  They’re as close as they can get without raising suspicion.  I told them that once they see a hell of a lot of commotion, they might have to swoop in.”

“As long as we can kill the king,” Lovino said.

“Then I’ll go back behind and disable anything that’s overwhelming our forces,” Feliciano said.  “Just—just make sure that nothing harms Ludwig.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Gilbert muttered.

A hush fell over the group with the pounding of feet.  The King came with his entourage of guards, stopping in a semi-circle around the opened door of the banquet hall.  A deathly silence born of halted production weaseled its way into the room.

“Now is the time,” The king stated.  He surveyed the tide of machines in front of him, lip curling into a little smile.  He gestured toward Lovino.  “I trust that you and your alchemist teammates have worked out a solution toward powering these machines endlessly.  Show me your progress.”

Lovino glanced at Arthur then to Gilbert, both of whom smiled wanly back.  All of Gilbert’s body was tensed like a too-tight spring, poised ready to strike like a caged animal should anyone make a wrong move.

Lovino stepped forward.

 


	19. It All Falls Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn you guys...that...there are some pretty intense wounds and near character death in this chapter
> 
> and I'm sorry for making Rod a villain, tbh I don't know why I chose him b/c I have nothing against him. I just don't like too many OCs in my fanfiction, is all.

_You’ve never used this kind of energy before, Lovino.  Aren’t you worried something is going to break under all that pressure?_

“Shut the fuck up,” Lovino muttered.  He felt the dam crack just a little more, but pressed an amount of mental energy up against it, fortified by the confident gleam in Gilbert’s eye.  He knew if he focused on Gilbert, he could maintain his composure.

He took another step.

The conduction tower crackled in response to his nervous energy.  When he placed his hands upon it, it ignited in burning heat that seemed to suck up his power rather than invite it, so that Lovino was less pushing so much as holding on for dear life.

He wanted to scream.

It sucked and sucked until the dry energy ripped through his nerves, blistering at the tips of his fingers. 

He couldn’t hear the king’s joyous clapping or the nervous shuffling around him.  He couldn’t hear the quirk of guns trained on him.  He couldn’t hear Gilbert breathe his name, his voice also snatched away.

Around him, the robots started to shift, gear by gear, scraping like arthritic joints until a whirring took over and the groan of metal met with movement.  One by one, like puppets jerked upward by their strings, the robots pulled upright.  Their eyes pulsed softly.

“It’s happening—“ The king dared say.

 _You’ll slip, Lovino_.

Lovino bore his gaze that much harder into Gilbert.

“No I won’t,” he mouthed. 

_You’ll slip. And fall._

“You really aren’t me,” Lovino said quietly.

“Then who are you?”

_Someone better than you._

He groaned a little bit and only pushed more of his power out.  The meter on the last group of robots slowly ticked higher and then, lighting up, pulsed power through the last fifty robots.  With their activation, Lovino felt the amplifier release its hold on him and sagged to his knees, tasting something metallic as his head spun and the world tilted.  An ache dug deep as the last traces of his powers ebbed away.

The King signaled to Ludwig, who had been standing near the back.

Heart pounding against his ears, uniform made clingy with cold sweat, breath shaky, he raised the silver-barreled pistol, staring down the engraved ruby roses into the sight.  He trained it on Gilbert.

The albino ran for Lovino, pulling him into his lap to stroke his hair, kiss his forehead.  Ludwig could not hear him over the stamping of marching, ringing feet as the robots positioned themselves, spilling out into the hallways and over the balcony. 

Thank god Feliciano was not watching.

Thank god he wouldn’t see who fired the bullet.

He waited, breathing evenly, finger poised around the trigger like a snake ready to strike.

Gilbert managed to pull Lovino to his feet.

A moment and Lovino was in the line of fire, but he stumbled and Gilbert’s head was in plain view.

A rivulet of sweat dripped down Ludwig’s face.  He swallowed and started to curl his trigger-finger.  The gun clicked in response.

He breathed a shaky breath.

All the strength in the world could not make him squeeze.

He gritted his teeth. The tendons in his extended arm bulged as he tightened his grip on the handle of the gun—but it was like the weapon had grown heavy with the guilt and fear piled on it, until his arms shook and he felt himself lower them, vision nearly black from panic.  Gilbert disappeared behind several of the robots, his cheering echoing in the room as he clapped Lovino on the back.  The other was on his feet again, stable, grinning like a runner who had just stumbled over the finish line. 

“I cannot,” he said quietly.  He was unable to slink out, for the robots crowding the doorway.  He stood awkwardly with the gun still in tense hands, arms still straight but pointed downward.

He caught a glimpse of the king.

And raised his gun again.

The king stood at the series of controls that he’d devised himself, but when he flipped a lever, nothing responded.  In a panic, he started pushing more buttons, even raising the panel to check the wires inside--

“Lovino, you _did_ it,” Gilbert muttered in his ear, arms wrapped solidly around his waist, watching as the king started shouting at the unresponsive machines.

“I did…I _did_ ,” the thief gasped.  Despite all the broken pieces and painful residues in his mind, he’d pushed through.

 _I’ll never go away,_ the voice sneered. 

“You’re wasting your time,” Lovino thought, pressing a kiss to Gilbert’s lips.  “Okay, just hold on to me.  I’m going to…do the other thing.”

“Emotional support?” Gilbert asked, holding on more tightly.   Arthur, Lukas, Alfred, and Feliciano joined their tight ring, shielding the two with their bodies.  They each raised varying lengths of swords and daggers.

Lovino nodded once.  “I—this is going to be a clusterfuck—“

By then the king was looking anxiously around, tilting up onto his tiptoes as if looking for someone in the background.  His brow furrowed, but he signaled to a few of his other soldiers.

Lovino smirked a little bit, watching him.  He curled his fingers inward.

The robots along the back wall, near the soldiers who had started to cock their guns, slapped an arm backwards into the unsuspecting men.  They hit the wall heavily, sank to the floor, and did not move.

Startled, the king whirled around.  “Tell them to stand down—“ he ordered Lovino, raising his own gun.  “Or you get a bullet through your brain.”

“And have your precious army collapse in on itself?” Lovino asked.  All the hatred bottled inside him for months of captivity and the suffering he and his friends endured welled inside him.  He stood straighter, hands shaking though balled into fists.  But Gilbert was there and the king was finally at his mercy.  He’d won.

“They’re self-sustaining,” The king answered.  “I developed the technology myself—“

“And who do you think they answer to?  You?  HA.”  Lovino gestured a few of them forward.  They joined the ring of protection around his small group.  “Your control panel is fucking useless.  Should have seen that one coming a mile away, dumbass.”

The realization struck the king and the colour drained from his face.  Still, he kept his gun upright.  “You think I don’t have ways of controlling you, still?  Kid—“

“You don’t,” Lovino said simply.

“Yeah—what my boyfriend said,” Gilbert muttered, though his voice was dead serious. 

Glass next door crashed in.  The shadow of two ships loomed over the windows where the sun would have penetrated the ever-clinging smog. 

“God, I hate being in this place again—“ came a voice.

Lukas tensed.  Tino’s voice, followed by Berwald’s grunt of agreement. 

“If Mathias is with them, I will shave them bald,” he hissed.

In the moments of distraction, a gunshot rang out with the tang of gunpowder falling over the sudden silence.

The bullet glanced off the shoulders of one of the robots, ricocheting between two—which only sustained dents--before thudding into the wall.  Ludwig stood just behind them, cursing silently, the smoking gun still trained on the king. 

The king raised his own gun, sneering at Lovino as he slowly swiveled it toward Gilbert.

With an echoing shot, the bullet slammed into Gilbert’s chest in a burst of blood--and he stared at his hands, as if unable to comprehend the sticky fluid seeping deep into the cracks of his palms.  His face sank into an impossible ashen white, beads of sweat budding on his skin.  It was an icy cold that spread—not pain—as his eyes fluttered shut.

“I have done what you could not,” the king spat at Ludwig. 

Lovino screamed, grappling to hold Gilbert upright in his arms, as if letting him fall would be admitting defeat.  Through strangled sobs and whimpered names and messy tears, he kissed at his face, holding tight as the coldness spread from Gilbert to his own chest.  “Gilbert, no, you have to fucking stay awake, goddammit Gilbert you fucking _promised_ you promised a happy ever fucking after don’t you fucking go back on your fucking word—”

The pirates came spilling in through the door, cutlasses and swords raised.  Antonio led the charge with Berwald just a step behind.  Emil was the last through.

Ludwig stood as if transfixed.  A tide of the king’s soldiers managed to shove their way through into the room, slicing at the wiring to sever at the heads of the robots.  Though they sputtered with a shower of sparks, the machines remained motionless as ever.

“To the _ship_ ,” Lovino screamed.  “Let’s just fucking _go—_ “  He sank to his knees, clutching at Gilbert’s fallen body, ignoring the blood plastered across his cheek as he pressed his head against his chest.

He was desperate to hear the feeble struggle of his heart—beating despite everything—as he tried to push one last spark of his power into him.  The thief gasped for breath, completely spent, too many tendrils of his power connected to the robots and continuously sapping energy he did not have.  “Please,” he sobbed.  His power crackled but died again.  “The one time I fucking want to use it for my goddamn self—“

He ripped free of the robots, leaving them to their heart-devices, but in doing so, released them to the king who still clutched his control panel for dear life.

Finally they responded to the king’s command.  He paused, confirming this, then cackled wildly into the commotion as the robots turned on their creator. 

But Lovino ignored them, pressing down onto Gilbert’s chest, trying to breathe life into him with feeble breaths and quivering lips.  “God _dammit—_ please Gilbert, I _need_ you—f- _fuck—“_

Lukas put a hand on his shoulder.  “We have to get him to the ship.  I can stabilize him.”

Lovino shook his head, trying to wrench free as he clung harder.  No matter how he tried, he couldn’t draw up enough power to help him.  What was once little sparks died into nothing but overwhelming dizziness.

With Arthur’s help, they untangled the desperate thief from his lover, hoisting the dying soldier up between them until Berwald reached them and took him.

Lovino was left there staring after, too weak to move from his spot on the floor, as they took Gilbert away. 

“To the ship—“ Arthur said.  They fought their way toward the window, but were swallowed up by the tide of robots before Lovino could see if they made it.  Not that hollow eyes could focus anywhere in particular.

Everything was the pain in his chest and the unbearable shriek and clatter of swords and the thick stench of fog.

He felt a fresh pair of hands on his shoulder, pulling him up again.  Ludwig.

“Please, Lovino, come on,” he urged.  “You have to regain control of those robots or we’re done for—“

Lovino shook his head, teeth chattering.  “Drained…”

 _Slipping_ , the voice said.

Feliciano’s voice rang out as a harsh shrill somewhere.  He’d slammed his palm into a robot and it fell backward, jerking on the floor as it hissed and smoked.  “I can—I can just destroy them—“

Ludwig shook his head, “Not wise, Feliciano.  You’d hit our allies.”

“Then clear the _room_ ,” Feliciano said. 

Antonio fought his way toward Lovino, sword flashing in one hand, pistol spitting out bullets in the other.  But, finding the ricochet to be too dangerous, he discarded it and it skidded across the floor in the churning of feet.  “Lovino—“

“Get everyone out of here,” Ludwig yelled at him.  “This battle is lost.  To the _ships_.”

“Then what is supposed to happen?” Antonio demanded.

“Feliciano will disable the robots,” Ludwig said.  “That is the best that we can do.”

“And you and he will remain on this island?”

“Back to square one,” Ludwig said.  “It’d be hoping too much to think that the king would somehow die in all this.  Not with his sophisticated technology—“

Antonio frowned deeply but nodded.  “I tried to—I tried to talk _sense_ into Gilbert…”

“Just go,” Ludwig said, clapping one hand heavily on Feliciano’s shoulder then pulling him into a tight embrace.  “Feliciano and I can take care of things.  I cannot guarantee your safety unless you’re clear of the island by at least two-hundred feet.”

Antonio threw a quick, sloppy salute, then ushered Emil forward with both hands.  Tino followed, along with the rest of Tonio’s crew.  Abel was the one who scooped Lovino up in his arms.

His face was gashed from eye to cheek, dripping blood onto the semi-conscious thief.  He ducked the swing of a heavy sword.  It whistled overhead.  “C’mon, Lovino, we’ll get you to your man.  Just hang in there yourself…”

Lovino shook his head, struggling feebly.  His words escaped in a clutter of strangled sobs and broken syllables.  “You heard him.  It’s back to square one.  None of this will have meant _anything_ …I can’t…I…I have to make it _mean_ something.  We didn’t just… _fail_ like this…especially if Gilbert is…”

Abel set Lovino’s down onto his feet as gently as he could.  “Then what are you proposing?”

“I want the king to answer for what he did,” Lovino said. 

Abel glanced after where Antonio disappeared in the commotion again.  He swallowed but nodded.  “Look, you can’t walk on your own—“

“Then fucking _carry_ me—“ Lovino managed, “I’m not _leaving_ here—“

“See, here’s the _thing--_ ,” Abel said, blocking the blow from a soldier with crossed arms.  It was stronger than he was and the strike plowed him backwards on the floor.  He grunted but held his ground, then ducked suddenly, pulling it by the wrist to use its own weight to fling it forward into another, which had cornered Elizabeta. 

She sidestepped the collapsing machines, twisting around to jam her dagger into the joint between head and neck.  “Thanks—“ she called out.

Abel nodded.  “So, the thing—is that this is a fools’ errand. You are literally outnumbered five hundred to one—“

“Do you think I fucking _care?!_ ” Lovino snarled.

Elizabeta joined them, back to back in their little pocket as enemies pressed in on all sides.  “Oh come on, Abe, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Overruled by intelligence and a keen sense of self preservation,” Abel shouted. 

He groaned, loud, when he saw the flash of a poleax cut through the circle, slicing the panels like they were nothing.  Antonio came crashing through, a madness alight in fiery eyes.  He landed with a wild laugh.  “I thought I said to the ship—“ he said, panting.  He turned to cut another soldier down.

“Is that…a Silf axe?” Elizabeta asked.

Antonio nodded, “Turns out those other pirates really know what they’re doing with weapons—so I borrowed an axe—“  Breathless, he laughed again, shaking his head in bemusement.

“Oh great, now the battle is getting to you,” Abel muttered.  “We can’t stay here.”

“I came back to get you all,” Antonio said.  He gestured toward the window.  “Come on, you heard what Ludwig said.  We won’t survive if we stay here, and personally I have a lot to do still in this life—“  Gently, he placed a hand on Lovino’s shoulder, expression softening.  “Gilbert doesn’t have much time,” he said quietly.  “If…if there is a way to save him, you’re going to have to come with us.  You’re the one with the powers.”

A strangled sob ripped from Lovino’s throat but he shook his head.  “I can’t—I—I’m _drained_ —“

“You have to _try_.”

“I _did_ —“ he screamed.  “I _did_ and I couldn’t fucking _do_ it—a-and now I have to fucking finish what he started—“  He widened his stance a little bit, hands balling into fists like he wanted to attack, tears budding into his eyes.

Antonio pulled him into a tight hug.  “You have to come with us…I won’t leave you here.”

Lovino only screamed and shoved at him, too weak to remove his arms but determined to batter at his chest with his fists.

Antonio looked helplessly at Abel, released Lovino, then signaled him to throw him over his shoulder.  Abel did so and Lovino only screamed louder.

“To the ship—“ Antonio said, voice cracking.  He could not look at Lovino.

They started at a jog, cutting down anything that attacked them, though even the robots had issues fighting in such close quarters where confusion and smog clouded everything.

“Roderich—“ Antonio shouted, seeing a glimpse of a purple cloak and cravat from beyond several robots.  He took these down with a few heavy blows.  “We’ve got everyone—“

He stopped short, feet skidding on the polished floor.

The barrel of a silver gun stared him down, the ex-noble grimacing on the other end, one hand supporting himself on the window sill that he blocked.

“The hell is _this?_ ” Antonio demanded.  He smacked at the barrel with the back of his hand, but Roderich whipped it around to his temple.

This time Antonio really did freeze.  “You wouldn’t shoot me, Roderich.”  He dared not move, but his eyes strained toward the hallway, knowing the time was running short.  Ludwig and Feliciano would act soon—

“See, I don’t want to,” Roderich said, “But you’ve made my life extremely difficult—“

“I don’t see what you mean,” Antonio said as calmly as possible.  The bite of steel against his head spread like pinpricks along his nerves til his lungs and chest felt like solid ice.  A cold sweat hollowed out his senses until everything was a tunnel, and there was only the gun and Roderich staring him down. 

“I could have had my place back in Volare,” Roderich hissed, “All I needed was the damn kid, but you just can’t mind your own damn business.”

“He’s _family_ ,” Antonio said.

“Hey, Roderich, you shoot Antonio and I will cut you down—“ Abel snarled, dropping Lovino heavily then stepping forward.  He raised his dagger.  “Then who gains anything.”

“You’d really have this stand-off?” Roderich asked.  “Stand down or he really _does_ die.”  He met Abel’s eyes, one of his brows raised, though sweat dripped from his forehead.  He held the gun so tightly that the knuckles turned white. 

Abel snarled in frustration but lowered his dagger.  “What is the point of this?  We stay here and we die?”

“I want you to go back there and cut down the Destroyer,” Roderich said.  “And while you’re at it, that useless excuse for a soldier who made what should have been a simple exchange so difficult.”  He gestured toward the back hall with his neck, “Otherwise, there is no escaping and we all die anyway.” 

Antonio didn’t dare back away even one step, even to escape the cold kiss of the gun.  “And I am to stand here waiting?”

Roderich shrugged, “I suppose so.”

“Always knew you were a snake,” Abel hissed.  “Antonio took you in because he’s a genuinely good—albeit foolish—guy.  Even someone like me knows to stand behind a man like that.  You will die for this.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you better watch your filthy little back.”

Someone shouted from the ship outside—an unfamiliar, shrill sound.  In came crashing Belle in a flurry of petticoats and a feral scream.  She slammed the butt of her sword into the back of Roderich’s head as she hurtled into him.  He fell forward just as Antonio ducked to the left.  The gun went off.

Antonio rolled to his feet, panting heavily, one hand clapped to where he felt the ghost of the gun lingering.  The bullet had thudded into the floor and exploded.

Belle thrashed free of the tangle of hers and Roderich’s limbs and climbed to her feet, gesturing wildly to the ship.  “Not enough _time—_ “

“Belle you—“  Antonio took a step forward and kissed her cheek, wide eyed and blinking all at once as he tried to move past his shock..  “Thank you—“ he managed.

“Saw him there.  Knew he was up to no good,” she explained.  “We need to _leave_ —“

Abel turned to collect Lovino but cursed loudly.  “Where’d he _go--?!”_

Elizabeta grabbed him by his elbow, “We don’t have time—He’ll—he’ll just have to _be_ okay—“

Antonio swallowed but nodded, “If anyone can survive whatever the Destroyer’s power entails, it would be Lovino—to the ship—“  Face pale, mouth set into a little frown, he climbed through the window and swung over onto the deck of his ship.  He murmured a silent prayer for Lovino then rushed into the cabin to check on Gilbert.  The rest followed, stunned into silence, before the ship revved back into action and made a hurried ascent, following the larger ship up above the Fourth Tier.

\--

Because Lovino was so small, he could easily slip between the legs of his robots, dodging clumsily swung fists that were more likely to ram into one of their own kind than him.  Humans were scarce now.  Even the king had retreated to somewhere safe, seeing the damage done by the faulty machines.

He ran for the hallway that he’d seen Ludwig disappear down, neverminding the raw panic searing through him in place of pain he should have been feeling.  His hands were stained brown with blood.  It was all he could see and taste, that sharp contrast against Gilbert’s already pale skin.  He shook his head and wiped at his eyes.  No time now.

“It won’t mean nothing—can break down _later—_ “ he snarled to himself, spurring himself faster with only adrenaline to keep him upright.  He was able to squeeze through a door which had been bottlenecked in the commotion of too-big soldiers. 

Catching a glimpse of Ludwig, he ran faster, but skidded to a halt once he rounded the corner.  The king was there with his control panel, and the lone robot he controlled had Ludwig by the neck.  His feet dangled inches from the ground, his own hands grasping at the robot’s hold.  He grunted deeply at Lovino, begging him to run.

Feliciano lay nearby on the ground, semi conscious in a pool of his own blood.  It wasn’t a fatal wound, but his arm gushed out where the bullet tore at his shoulder.  With his good arm, he shoved himself upright.

“Lovino, get out of here—“ he managed, climbing to his feet.

The king raised his gun to Lovino’s head.  He wasn’t unscathed himself, sporting minor cuts on his face and arms.  Still, he grinned through little streams of blood dripping down his lips.  “So you were planning on betraying me all along,” he said quietly.

“Should have been obvious,” Lovino spat.  Fury brought malice into his voice.  Dead eyes turned dangerous.  “You better fucking hope Gilbert lives—not that _you’ll_ survive.”

“Those are big words for one without power,” the king said.  “You never really did destroy that block on your powers.  You’re like a malfunctioning part:  useful enough, but in the end, something like you needs to just be _discarded_.”  He clicked the hammer down and peered down the sights.

“I’m not a machine,” Lovino said simply, “Nor some part of one.  I am a human.”

The king did not move the gun, but he shook his head.  “No, all you’ll ever be is one little part of a long scheme--an insignificant little part that brought about my world domination.  Thanks to you, I have these soldiers, despite all you did to hinder me.  But don’t fret, because in being a part of my scheme, you have become something greater.  So in that way, I guess you _were_ worth something, no matter how useless you are.”

“Then kill me already,” Lovino spat.  “You think I want to live a life without Gilbert anyway?”

The king shook his head as realization flashed across his face. “No, I won’t kill you.  I want your powers.  _You_ can serve me, even in a coma, my perfect little battery.  I have so many ideas to bring to life and so many ways to make this kingdom the greatest of them all.”

The king gestured to Feliciano.  “I want you to break him.  Break your brother, or both he and Ludwig die.”

Feliciano shook his head slowly.  “No.”

The robot squeezed harder on Ludwig’s neck, until the soldier began sputtering, his legs kicking beneath him like that would do any good. 

Feliciano shook his head sadly, “See, this way, you don’t get what you want on any front…”  He slowly climbed to his feet, ignoring the robot and the gun as he took two steps into the mirrored hallway. 

“What are you doing--?” the king demanded.

“I won’t be a bargaining chip anymore.”  He snapped his finger to one side and the robot dropped Ludwig and fell steaming to the floor. 

Only half conscious, the bruises a purple rash around his throat, Ludwig rolled onto his side, coughing heavily.

“Goodbye, Ludwig,” Feliciano muttered.  “Get Lovino out of here if you can.”  He lifted his head to stare at where his reflection spanned into infinity and met its eyes.  Holding tight to the railing, he gave a soft sigh and focused, those same gentle, resigned eyes lighting with a deadly power that hummed through the air like hornets and crackled like electricity around them.

Ludwig struggled past a wave of dizziness, scrambling to his feet--

The scream that ripped from Feliciano’s throat was like that of a cornered animal, something inhuman wrestled from his very core.  A crack split the mirror in front of him, across his features.

“FELICIANO—“ Lovino screamed, shoving past the gun, which the king dropped from a nerveless grasp as the buzzing grew louder.  He leapt past Ludwig as the king darted the opposite direction, fleeing for his life.

All he saw was Feliciano as a boy—a child with a bullet in his chest bleeding out as he drew up the last of his reserves to save Lovino—

He wouldn’t watch him die again—

With a strangled yowl, Lovino slammed into his brother, knocking him to the floor as both sides of the hallway exploded in shards of glass.  Lovino felt as if there were thousands of needles ripping through his brain and, coughing blood as Feliciano’s energy radiated through him, he could only cling for dear life until he was thrown backwards by a fresh surge of energy.

His body collided with Ludwig’s.  They both went down.

Feliciano’s energy only intensified, rebounding back and forth on what was left of the mirror until the glass was ground to a fine powder that rained down onto his motionless body.  The entire island shook.

Through it all, barely hanging on to consciousness, Lovino grasped for his brother, finding just his ankle and unable to squirm free from Ludwig to pull himself closer.  He lost consciousness like that.

Everything went silent.




The drone in Ludwig’s skull couldn’t be described as unpleasant, just there, reality muffled much like the sensation of water on a gloved hand.  Coughing, he was able to push Lovino off of him.  The thief rolled to one side like nothing more than a broken, rag doll. 

Feeling as if he were clawing his way out of the rubble of some attack, Ludwig sat up with a groan, pressing his fingertips to his head.

His throat no longer hurt.  His lungs no longer spasmed. 

The glass pebbles ran down his shirt as he climbed to his feet.  He scattered more with a few experimental steps; they crunched underfoot. 

Still no pain.

Walking as if in a trance, he made it into the hallway, where Feliciano lay just as broken as Lovino.

“F-feliciano—“ Ludwig managed.

He fell to his knees so he could tug him into his lap, not conscious enough to truly comprehend the weight of the silence pressing down on them.  “Feliciano,” he managed again.

A thin stream of blood poured from his lover’s nostril.  His skin was a deadly white.  With a shaking hand, he stroked at his hair, throat quivering as the first tear splashed onto Feliciano’s face. 

“No, please…” he managed.  “Please, Feliciano, just wake up…”                                     

The other’s head just lulled to the side.

“Wake up!” he shouted into his face.  “FELICIANO.”  His voice broke into quiet sobs as he held him close, crying over his limp body, face pressed where his heart still beat faintly in his chest.  “God no…no…no… _no…_ don’t do this…”

Lovino coughed a bit into the quiet, shifting just enough to roll over.  Blood dripped into a little pool on the floor from the corner of his mouth.  Moaning, his eyes fluttered open then shut again.

Without thinking, Ludwig reached back to grab him roughly by the wrist.  His powers jerked through him, something alive and warm and strong.  The soldier dragged him by the arm and planted the palm of his hand onto Feliciano’s forehead.

Lovino only groaned but let his fingers conform to the shape of his brother’s face as he tried to focus on him.  There was no willing release of energy, just a thousand leaks from the rubble of the barrier that once held his mind so tightly shut.

It seeped into his brother and all at once the bleeding stopped.  Ludwig let Lovino’s hand fall then, peering into Feliciano’s face, waited until the other swallowed a bit and opened his eyes.

“Wha…?”

“F-feliciano—“ Ludwig managed.  “Feliciano…Feli…”  Words failed him so he wrapped around his lover, forehead tapping into his as he stroked at his face with his thumbs, repeating his name like it was all he could fathom.

Weakly, Feliciano sat up and kicked at a bit of the rubble.  His clothes were ripped and bloodied, but his own wounds, including the bullet hole, had closed up.  “I…I’m alive…”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Ludwig demanded.  His voice wasn’t angry so much as completely spent.  Still holding Feli, he sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“It’s quiet,” Feliciano managed.  “Where is…where is the king?”

Ludwig could only shrug with a noncommittal grunt.

Lovino rolled onto his hands and knees.  Trembling and covered in lacerations, he coughed heavily until blood splattered across the floor.  He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, groaning, then rolled again to sag against the wall by Ludwig.  “Don’t hear the robots,” he finally managed.

“That is odd,” Ludwig agreed.  Because he was the strongest, he stood and slowly hefted either brother into his arms, one per side.  He shifted a bit to get a better hold of them and started to walk.

The hairs stood on the back of his neck, the closer he got to the main hall.  Lovino was right; he really didn’t hear anything.  When he rounded the corner, he was greeted with what looked like a battlefield of the slain:  robots slumped haphazardly all over the floor, some crushing the king’s soldiers, others still twitching.

“Fuck…” Lovino managed.  “Feliciano, you…really did a number…”  He could not lift his head to investigate further, instead leaning against Ludwig’s chest.

Ludwig stopped by one soldier and kicked at his shoulder.  “Name and rank,” he said.  “You have no wounds.  Stand and tell me what happened.”

The soldier stared at him with blank eyes, a soulless husk.

With a started jolt, Ludwig backed away.  Around him, the living soldiers exhibited the same lifelessness, like sleeping bodies littered across the floor only to never wake. 

“How am _I_ still…conscious, then?” he wondered out loud.

“Because you fucking used me as a human shield,” Lovino managed.

Ludwig blinked.  “I, er, thank you then, and I apologize…”

“Good riddance of all these shitheads anyway,” Lovino said with a dull shrug.  He coughed a bit more, but Ludwig didn’t mind the blood flecking his uniform.  Feliciano, however, reached up to wipe at his own face.  “S’just get out of here…”

“Agreed,” Ludwig said, heading toward the window.  “There has to be some way of signaling to those pirates to lift us up off this ship…provided that the blast was…er, limited to the island.”

When he poked his head out, he saw the ships way over head.  He knew shouting would be useless, so he grabbed a flare from his pocket and lit it, watching as it shot free in a plume of crimson smoke and whistled overhead.

“Let’s just wait,” he said, collapsing to the floor with his back against the wall, both brothers slumped against him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this story isn't over yet. Shitstorm #1 completed. Shitstorm #2 about to start.


	20. Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood and gore and stabbing and all that fun stuff
> 
> one chapter and an epilogue to go then it is goodbye ;;;; I promise you guys that the epilogue is a happy one, the babies will be happy one day
> 
> also I pick chapter names on a whim, which is why they're so derpy whoops
> 
> did I mention a gerita/usuk focused sequel? now I have.
> 
> oh right, mega thank you (as always) to my beta, Jessi. she likes to make fun of my babies and slaps me if I get a little too enthusiastic. (you can blame her for Alfred's missing eye, that was her fault and I cannot be held accountable for it).

“He doesn’t have much time,” Lukas informed Antonio, face sagging with lingering exhaustion.  He’d bandaged the wound over a thick paste of an herb mash he’d made, though he was limited in what he could do on such short notice and with such little supply.  In that time, Gilbert lay unconscious, holding on despite erratic heartbeats which stumbled over themselves, quivered, then halted--only to reset themselves like a man coming up to breathe.

“He’s holding on,” Antonio murmured, “Somehow…”

“The human body can only take so much,” Lukas said.  “He cannot live without his heart, and it’s failing.”  He turned away, finding Tino amongst Antonio’s crew.  “Mats is on his ship, right?” he asked.

Tino nodded. 

“I can’t do much more for Gilbert,” Lukas continued, “I think we need to meet and figure out our next plan of action.  Signal to Berwald to bring the ships deck to deck so I can hop across…”

He stumbled past a kid still in a gasmask but, only looking at him with slight confusion, continued on his way.

Antonio turned, “Who the hell are you…?”  He was too tired to be on his guard.

The kid tugged it from his face, freeing a mess of curls and a tired frown.  “Marcello,” he said, “I…I’m a factory worker.  Saw people running and rolled with it,” he shrugged a little bit.

Antonio nodded and also pushed past, just as the flare shot up toward them.  With a shout, he leaned over the rail to squint at the island below.  “That was a signal—“ he shouted to Elizabeta.  “I think we need to return—“  He raced back to the cabin to retrieve his borrowed axe then relayed the message to the other ship, which Lukas had already hopped across on to. 

Although Antonio was afraid of what he might find, he stood at the bow of his ship, watching as the island grew larger with proximity.  He nudged at Abel, mouth agape.  Out in the castle yard, beyond shattered windows, robots spilled out over the balcony and over into the grass, as motionless as the bodies around them.  Even the mirrors adorning the sides of the castle were nothing but scattered shards of glass.

They approached the same window they’d escaped out of, though it was just Antonio and Abel who crawled through, their weapons raised.  They glanced around, breaths too loud in the strange silence, standing back to back lest all those fallen robots leapt up to attack.

Ludwig grabbed at Antonio’s leg.  The other screeched, swinging his axe on instinct but, recognizing Ludwig, stopped it half an inch from his face.  The other stared at the thin edge set between his eyes but gently pushed the blade away.

Antonio let out a long sigh and removed the offending weapon.  “Sorry, you could say I’m a bit jumpy.  I feel like I just stepped into an apocalyptic world…”

One of the robots rang as Abel kicked at it.  “Yeah, what happened exactly?”

“I’m not really sure,” Ludwig admitted.  “Feliciano broke everything…”

All at once, Antonio realized that Ludwig was holding both of the Vargas brothers.  He ducked down immediately to place a palm over Lovino’s forehead, causing him to stir just slightly.

“They’re both in a lot of pain,” Ludwig warned. 

With a start, Antonio recoiled.  “I suppose—but he’s like _leaking_ …”  He replaced the hand to find that the energy danced up his arm, making the hairs stand on end.  A few cuts and scrapes along his forearm sealed shut.  “We need to get him to Gilbert—“ Antonio said, jumping to his feet.  “He—he might not make it another minute—“

“Then take him,” Ludwig said, shifting him so that Antonio could haul him upright and, after handing his axe off to Abel, hook his arm under his knees to lift him.

“We all need to get on the ship,” Antonio said.  “No use hanging around here.”  He saw Roderich among those collapsed and shook his head, spitting in his direction.  “That’ll teach me to trust just anyone.”

Abel snorted.  “Maybe I should have spoken up sooner about my suspicions.”

Antonio shrugged.  “It’s the past.”  He had to press Lovino’s head to his chest to step from the window—thankful for the deck just below, though he stumbled from miscalculated distance.  Then, screaming for people to move aside, he all but ran into the cabin.

“Tell me he’s still alive—“ he shouted.

Francis was the one attending to him, though the best he could do was pump him full of more painkillers.  He nodded slightly.  “How, I do not know.  He is defying everything.”

“Thank god,” Antonio muttered, depositing Lovino into a chair and patting at his face with either hands.  “Lovino Vargas,” he said, “I need you to wake up and fix your boyfriend.”  When the other did not stir, he slapped harder then, grabbing a glass of water intended for Gilbert, splashed it full across his face. 

Lovino jolted awake with a loud curse, nearly slumping from the chair with a yelp til Antonio grabbed his shoulders.  A noise died in his throat when he saw Gilbert motionless before him.  He struggled to free himself so that he could stand and stagger toward him, half falling over the side of the bed just to be near him.  “G-gilbert—“

“Heal him,” Antonio said.

“I-I don’t know if I _can_ ,” Lovino whined.  “I tried before.  I did…”

Antonio shook his head.  “Try again.”

It was then that Lovino realized an odd sense of lightness in his head where the dam used to be.  He felt the power rise to his fingertips unhindered and, when he touched Gilbert, it crackled and danced along his skin.

His heartbeat fluttered faster than ever, pounding against the confines of his chest like a caged animal, loud against Lovino’s ear.  Then, as the power surged faster, all of the soldier’s muscles tensed at once, til he was arched off the bed and screaming, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Lovino cursed to himself but pried his fingers into him to keep a hold.  “Gilbert—you have to hang in there, dammit.”

_There’s no wall anymore, Lovino.  You sure you want to do this?_

Lovino ignored the voice this time.  There was only Gilbert and the smell of death and a heart that beat against the odds, then the sizzle of burning flesh that slowly stitched itself together—painfully, as Gilbert moaned and cried even while unconscious.  The bullet was deep in his chest.  As the wound pinched itself closed, it popped out against the bandages, which Lovino ripped and clawed at to reveal the injury.  The little metal ball rolled to the floor in a trail of blood.

Now Gilbert thrashed, like blindly fighting off enemies, his teeth gnashing and nostrils flaring with short, hard breaths.  Still, Lovino held for dear life both to Gilbert and to himself, until the other quieted into easy breathing and a quiet slumber, just as pale as before but with a rosy tinge returning to his cheeks.  The whole of his body was doused in sweat and tangled up in his sheets.

 _Impressive_ …

Lovino, too, went limp against him, croaking out his name with a throat screamed raw.

Gilbert responded in kind.  “Lo…vino…”  His hand reached up to pet his hair, eyes just slivers.

Marcello and Antonio were the only ones remaining; the rest ducked out at the horrifying screams and the stench of burning flesh that seared their lungs.

“Holy shit—“ Marcello managed, peaking out from behind Antonio. 

All Antonio could do was nod dumbly, patting blindly for the other’s head.  “I…need a vacation, I think…after all this is over.”

“I’ll come—“ Marcello said.

Ludwig, after waiting for the noise to die down, poked his head from behind the door.  His brows were knit.  He wrung his hands.  “Is he…?”

“He’s fine,” Antonio said.  “He survived.”  His laugh was one of fatigue more so than wonder, but he stood shaking his head, staring down at his hands as it all became too much to process.  “Somehow he cheated _death_ —“

Gilbert’s voice was choked and his syllables half-formed.  “Didn’t get ta say goo’bye…”  He wasn’t able to tilt his head to look at them and it wasn’t clear if he was aware of who he was speaking to.

“Now you won’t have to,” Antonio said.  “As stubborn as you are.”  He turned to Ludwig, though, a frown barely touching the corners of his mouth.  “What next?”

Ludwig shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Outside, the rest of the crew milled about, shellshocked for the most part, unable to do much other than nurse their wounds or clean the grease and blood from their weapons.  If anyone did talk, it was in a hoarse whisper in the heavy air.

Absently petting Marcello’s curly hair, Antonio mused to himself, “Well, the castle is in ruins.  I’m willing to bet that the King didn’t escape that blast.  Maybe…maybe we should finish the job.”

Ludwig massaged at his temples but nodded.  “It would be for the best…”

Gilbert shifted in his bed, squirming from under Lovino to twist himself over so his feet scraped the ground.  Though he reeked of sweat and blood, his grin was alive as ever.  He reached over to grab the dagger from the bedside table—the same one that Lukas had used to slice and smash herbs.  “You’re not leaving me out of this,” he said.

“…Gilbert,” Ludwig started, though he hesitated, “You just survived something that should have killed you.  You need bedrest.”

Hand over his chest where not even scars remained, Gilbert shook his head, “See, I kinda feel fucking awesome.  And I’m pissed at you, so I’m not going to listen to anything you say anyway.  I say we go in there, find the king, then fuck his shit up once and for all.”

 Lovino’s head lulled onto his chest as he hissed in pain.  Gilbert only held him tighter.  “Goddamn, Lovino, you were so fucking brave.  Hang in there.”  He pressed a kiss to his forehead then to his lips, swallowing up his delirious murmuring.

Marcello pulled free from Antonio to join his side, “See, I _knew_ you were a spy—“

Gilbert blinked, “How in the hell did _you_ get here?”

“I have feet.  They’re good for things like walking and going places,” Marcello said simply, “So I went where I had a good chance of surviving—“  The others only stared, so he puffed his chest out, hands on his hips, “Plus you can’t get rid of me—b-because I’m useful too—“

“We don’t throw people out based on their inability to contribute,” Antonio muttered, “What do you think we are?  Barbarians?”

Marcello shrugged, bottom lip jutting out, though he’d brightened considerably.  “You never know.  Anyway, as I was saying, I’m useful…”

“Okay, Okay, I believe you,” Gilbert managed.

Ludwig stepped out.  “I’ll discuss our plan of action with the others.”                   

Marcello, seeming pleased that Gilbert believed him, scooted up onto the bed beside him and placed his hand on Lovino’s forehead, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he thought.  “See, conveniently, I’m a Vargas too…”

Both Antonio and Gilbert jerked their heads to look at him.  The resemblance was there, just as Gilbert had recognized months ago—that pointed chin, the shape of his eyes, the texture of the hair.  He was like a younger version of Lovino, just maybe a bit more petite and a lot more cheerful. 

“Then what kind of powers do _you_ have?” Antonio asked, shaking his head in disbelief.  “And where in the world did you come from all of a sudden?”

“I don’t really have powers,” Marcello admitted with a little shrug, “But you know how electricity travels through water or down a lightning rod?  I’m kinda like that…”  He sighed, “Not that impressive, but, you do what you can with what you have, right?”  He took one of Lovino’s hands, wrestling his fingers between his.  They were cold and clammy.  Then, he took the other and rested his head against his brother’s and closed his eyes.  “C’mon Lovino, if you put power through me, I’ll redirect it back to you…”

Lovino grunted a little bit and pushed at his energy.  He felt it leave him, then struggled against the sticky embrace of his brother.  Marcello only held tighter and shot the power back through him.

The thief’s eyes shot open and, with a burst of energy, wrenched free, coughing loudly as he pounded at his chest, glancing back and forth as if finally aware of his surroundings.  “The…hell?”

Marcello beamed up at him, “See, that was fun, wasn’t it!”  He looked back at Antonio, “I tracked my one brother down a long time ago, but I mean, what can a kid do about it.  So I just figured out how to live in Volare with my new family and work at the factory.  Didn’t know if I would be useful, but figured I should stay nearby…”

Gilbert allowed Lovino to curl up against him and, idly stroking his hair, hefted him up so that he could stand.  Though he wavered, he found that he was strong enough to walk.  For the first time in years he felt capable of anything.  “So, we gonna go destroy that king?”

Lovino nodded against Gilbert’s chest.  “Yeah.”

As Gilbert carried Lovino away, Marcello frowned.  “He didn’t even acknowledge me…my brother didn’t…”

“I’m sure he’s overwhelmed by everything,” Antonio said.  “Once things have quieted down, talk to him again…”

\--

Something was not right.

Lovino zoned in and out even once the pain was gone.  He wasn’t sure where he went when he blacked out, just that he’d been moved to a new location, whether he was carried or walked without realizing.

He grunted a little bit and tightened his grip onto Gilbert’s sleeve.  Since when had he been standing?

Gilbert looked down at him.  Feverish excitement was just barely tinged with concern.  “You feeling okay?”

Lovino had to think about it a moment.  There was no more pain, not even the deep ache in his nerves, but he felt as if he were wading through a thick sheet of water and that each breath wasn’t air but something insubstantial that made him lightheaded.  He felt himself nod.

The wind grazed his back as the ship lowered back to the castle window.  Lovino was vaguely aware that the others had been discussing the situation.  They’d asked him a few questions but he couldn’t remember what he’d responded with.

However, things kept moving along.

Next he knew, they were back in the castle, a lonely pocket of the living around the wreckage scattered through the hallways.  It took some picking through, but they were able to navigate down toward the throne room.  Though there was no one to challenge them, the group felt safer clutching their weapons upright.

“This is really fucked up…” Gilbert muttered, as they neared the hall of mirrors.  They kicked through it.

Lukas swallowed, but reached out a hand to skim the wood where the mirrors used to be.  He found peace in the barren surface.  “It’s an improvement.”

Still, Berwald, just a step behind him, set a hand on his shoulder, a heavy but silent presence.  Emil walked on his other side, also just near enough that Lukas was secure.  Tino moved ahead.

“I found him—“ Tino called back.  “He—he’s unconscious?”

“Broken,” Ludwig corrected, voice muffled.  He’d brought up the rear of their group.

The king had made it as far as his bookshelf, but had slumped over just as he’d pulled at the secret lever.  When the door opened, it had shoved his body to one side.

Feliciano, lips pressed tight, walked forward, tapped him with his foot, then spat onto his face.  “I’ve wanted to do that since before I can remember,” he said quietly.

The king did not respond.  His chest rose and fell quietly.

Ludwig came up behind Feliciano to place his hands on his shoulders.  “Me too, to be honest…”

It was Lukas who stepped forward and, shoving his daggers into his belt, drew Berwald’s broadsword from his sheath as he walked past.  “It would be fitting to kill this man with Mathias’s axe, but you left it on the damn ship.”

“Can go get it,” Emil muttered. 

“Too much work,” Lukas said, “Smartass.”

Antonio looked away as Lukas stepped over the King’s body, sword poised above his chest.  “Is this really an honorable thing to do?  Stab him when he can’t fight back?”

“What makes you think he deserves an honorable death?” Lukas asked as he plunged downward.  The sword stabbed clean through with a sickening crack of bone and the squelch of flesh and blood, halted by the ring of steel against the marble floor.  Lukas, shaking his head, breathed a dry, broken laugh into the following silence.  He was joined by Berwald, who came up behind him, his larger hands enveloping Lukas’s on the hilt then, grunting, twisted the sword in the King’s chest.

Blood pooled out onto the floor.

Together, they yanked it free, Lukas pressing the heel of his shoe against the King’s body to keep it from rising with the sword.  He let go and left Berwald to clean his blade against one of the tapestries lining the throne room.

“I’ve had my revenge,” Lukas said simply as he walked out.

Alfred stared with his one good eye.  “Remind me _not_ to piss that guy off…ever.”

Arthur chuckled despite everything.  “I think his facial expression serves as enough of a reminder.”

“He actually has a very nice smile,” Tino said as he walked past, feeling oddly light now that the deed was done.  “And he’s actually pretty pleasant to be around once you understand his humor.”  He shrugged a little bit.

“If you want to say he has a sense of humor,” Emil scoffed.

“Shut up back there,” Lukas called back.

Tino grinned and finally put away his weapons.  Now that the king was dead, the hall had lost its gloomy silence, filled in by the scuff of feet and the uneasy chatter of a group with a weight lifted from their shoulders.  “I can’t believe this is all over, to be honest.  Two years later and Mathias’s dream comes true.”  He bounded forward, taking a running leap to pounce on Berwald’s back and, catching him, clung tight for an impromptu piggyback ride.  “We have to tell Mathias!”

“He’ll be pissed he missed the action,” Lukas said.  “So don’t rub it in too much.”

“I will if I want,” Emil said.

Gilbert caught Lovino in a sudden kiss, scooping him up and spinning him in his arms, laughing loudly.  “We _did_ it—“

Disoriented, Lovino clung tight.  “Shit—Gil—“

Gilbert released him and helped stabilize him a moment.  “Oops—sorry—You—you’re still…messed up?”

Lovino finally nodded.  “I don’t know what it is.  S’probably just because today was a clusterfuck,” he said. 

“You probably need food in you,” Antonio said.

“Mommy-Antonio,” Abel said, though he nodded and produced a tart from his pocket, which he unwrapped and handed over.  “Eat this?  It’s crammed full of sugar.”

“The hell you have something like that in your pocket?” Gilbert asked, though he was more jealous than anything.

“Thought I might need a snack later,” Abel said, “Battling is hungry work.”

Lovino ate it and did feel a little better.  He licked his fingers.

“So…what now?” Gilbert asked.  He kept an arm around Lovino, worried how he swayed a bit when he stood and the eerie blankness that phased in and out of his eyes, like he was zoning out.

“I guess we get the hell off this island,” Arthur suggested, “Maybe get down to the Second and First Tiers and explain what happened.”

“Ready for absolute anarchy?” Gilbert asked.

Alfred waved his hands to get their attention.  “No, but, here is the _thing_.  We could set up a public forum and figure out the newest form of government from _scratch_.  Sure it’ll be complicated and maybe there will be a little bit of unrest, but this is what this country _needed_ all along.  We’re free of a corrupt maniac.  We can let the people decide what is best from now on…”

“Better not ask a bunch of nobles, then,” Antonio said.  “They are too used to the life they know.  We need…all sorts of people in this conversation.”

Alfred nodded enthusiastically, adjusting his glasses.  Somewhere in the chaos one lens had cracked, but he counted himself lucky it was the half that was blind.

“Just don’t get too discouraged when this change doesn’t happen overnight.  Or without conflict,” Arthur said.

“I’m the master of pigheaded stubbornness,” Alfred said, “You said so yourself.  So I can figure out how to make this work!”

“Well at least someone is excited,” Abel finally said.

They made it onto the ship and, after a quick dinner shared between crews, they set off for the Second Tier.

“Just…how do we break the news?” Antonio asked at length.  The fire had died down in the pits and most of the crew, exhausted, leaned against each other or sprawled out over the deck.

Elizabeta was especially quiet, seated against Antonio’s back.  She’d hardly touched her food other than to pick at it absently. 

“Public forum?” Alfred suggested.  “Call everyone to sit and listen.”

“I still say there will be a major backlash,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, but it’s not like we can go up there and unkill the king, so, stop bringing it up,” Alfred snapped.  “We have to move forward.  I already said I know it’ll be difficult as hell.  Why can’t you trust me?”

“I do,” Arthur said, not without irritation of his own, though he wrapped around Alfred and awkwardly stroked through his hair to help calm his ruffled feathers.  “I just want you to go in there with realistic expectations.  Got to keep you grounded _somehow,_ lord knows…”

“You’re good for me that way,” Alfred said quietly.

“Should have cut his head off as proof,” Abel said.

Antonio frowned at him.

Abel only shrugged, “You really think they’ll believe us otherwise?”

Belle rolled her eyes, “Pirates 101?”  Over the past few weeks her voice had grown stronger, though she usually only spoke when she had something important to say.  The joke caught Abel off guard but he grinned widely at it.

“I was top in my class,” he said.

Antonio saw that he would get no useful suggestions from his crew, so he set them off to ready the ship for their descent now that they’d recovered sufficiently.  A few nursed minor wounds, but due to the clumsiness of the robots and their imprecise aim, the pirates had no problems outmaneuvering them, even though they had clogged the hallways in sheer numbers.  If anyone bothered to ask, Gilbert would adamantly claim that he’d done that on purpose, though he’d taken mental notes on the issue if the need for a robot army should ever again arise. 

When he muttered that to Lovino, the thief found his comment a little less than amusing, preferring to rest against him, burrowed into his chest without touching his food.  When he’d opened his eyes earlier, they were vague and unfocused.   Gilbert put it aside, wrapped in paper, but made a note to push him to eat later.

Antonio announced their location from the opposite end of the ship, barking out orders for the crew to dock the vessel in the central square.  Lukas received the message by bird, but he was close enough so that Antonio could see his middle finger go up.  His ship was too large to fit in the center of the city alongside Antonio’s; he would have to dock somewhere around the periphery.

Shaking his head, Antonio let out a little laugh, if only to fill the strange silence with something.  Elizabeta joined him on the bow, her elbows against the railing.  A dull wind sighed heavily.  Clouds choked an already feeble sun as it succumbed to the evening without a sendoff. 

“I saw what happened,” she said quietly.  “With Roderich.”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah…”  Pensive, Antonio frowned out over the townhouses.  Though they rapidly approached the Second Tier, they weren’t quite close enough to see much more than crisp roofs of houses crammed close together.  A few chimneys spewed out smoke, but that did not compare to the general smog suffocating the streets like persistent fog.  Even though production had stopped, it continued to roll down from the Third Tier.

Gazing out over all this, Antonio felt the hair on his neck stand on end.  He wrung his hands.  “I shouldn’t have been so foolish.  I trust too easily.  I wonder to what extent he brought any of this about.  Certainly I should have been suspicious with all those outgoing messages…”

Elizabeta sighed, “He was always…pretty slippery.  Even as children.”  She shrugged a bit and tightened her longcoat around her, tossing her hair as she shook her head, “So I guess I can call myself a fool as well for thinking he’d changed.  People do change, just not him…”

Antonio reached over to place a hand on her shoulder.  “I won’t let him ruin my faith in humanity.  Maybe I’ll be a bit smarter from now on, but I’ve never been a stranger to greed and manipulation.  I’ve just learned how to rise above it the best I can.”

“S’all you can do,” Elizabeta agreed.

The ship sank through the layer now.  Coughing, Antonio threw his collar up in front of his face, wrinkling his nose.  He spoke in quiet gasps.  “So, what will you do now, Miss Héderváry?  If I recall, you were only following Roderich.  Now you must go your own way.  Or stay, if you’d like.  You’ve been nothing but amazing as a member of my crew.”

Elizabeta shrugged, one arm shielding her own nose and mouth.  “It’ll take some thought.”

“I understand.”

The ship scraped against the cobblestone of the square with a harsh finality, like air pushed from dying lungs.  The drop of an anchor followed.  It clattered against a fountain, which shattered with its weight.

Abel cursed loudly.

They walked from the ship like men to the gallows, single filed down the plank that Abel had heaved over the side.

“It’s really quiet…” Antonio remarked.  The silence swallowed his voice until he wondered if he’d spoken at all.

But then Abel answered.  “You’re telling me.  You’d think they’d be offended I fucked up their fountain or something…”

This close to the ground, the fog was now a barrier overhead, like storm clouds boiling close to the surface, only filthy and with no promise of rain.  Antonio coughed a few more times and spat out onto the pavement.  A shiver possessed him.  Goosebumps followed.  Arms around himself, he stuck close to Abel as they walked.

“I don’t like this,” Gilbert said quietly.  He felt as if he was walking across an overturned cemetery. 

Francis nodded silently.  “Maybe the people are wise and are staying inside.  I would too if my city was dumped with so much pollution.  Plus the noise from the island upstairs?  They’d think they were under attack…”

“It’s not as simple as that—“ Antonio called out as he rounded a corner.

The others followed.

Before them lay a bloodless carnage, bodies fallen everywhere in the middle of evening activities—at café tables, chatting at storefronts, crossing the streets, playing in the alleys--

“Shit—“ Gilbert breathed.

“ _Fuck—_ “ Lovino agreed.

“Are they…dead?” Lilli asked.

“No…” Feliciano said, appearing from behind Ludwig.  He was the only one who dared approach the bodies, stooping down to touch the wrist of a woman who had fallen on top of her two small children.  “…Broken.”

He stared in horror at the scene before him—at the damage _he_ had caused, and could feel the unspoken blame sink into his very core.  “I…how did this _happen_?”

“Your…initial blast must have been amplified somehow,” Ludwig choked.  He looked away from the people as if showing respect to soldiers fallen on a battlefield. 

“The mirrors…” Feliciano said.  “But…but…”

Arthur pointed to one of the conduction towers, “No, not the mirrors.  Your powers must have sparked off the Third Tier and hit one of these towers…”

Abel returned from the café front where he’d snatched up a loaf of bread from one of the tables.  He tore into it, pensive, taking care to avoid the plates of metal snaking between the cobblestones—the power grid for the city.  “Must have spread to the entire city,” he continued.

Antonio slapped the bread from his hand with a horrified frown.  “Don’t just—“

Abel ignored him and just grabbed another piece. “I’m hungry.  And it’s not like they’re gonna eat it.”

Arthur ignored them, “And once it hit _one_ tower, it traveled to them all.  I’m willing to bet…that the First and Grounded Tiers caught the blast too.  Those towers _amplify_ after all…”

“B-but the rest of the _country?_ ” Feliciano asked.  He held so tight to Ludwig’s hand that the other winced a bit, though he did not draw away.

Arthur shook his head, “I doubt the rest of the country was affected.  The Tiers have always been fairly connected in terms of energy, but I can’t see how it would have spread even to the Mid Plateaus.”

Feliciano released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  “So I didn’t destroy the world…?”

“Just a major city,” Arthur said, as if that was supposed to be a condolence.

“Right, that’s all well and good,” Gilbert said, “But how are we supposed to…un-fuck this shit up?”

The group turned to stare at Lovino, but the thief didn’t bother even looking up.  He could feel the eyes upon him.  “H- _how_?” he asked.

Alfred gestured to the conduction towers again.  “Well, the same way that Feliciano fucked the shit up—“ he yelped when Arthur swatted him.

“—language—“

“You’re not my father—“  He stepped out of Arthur’s reach and continued, “You will…un-fuck the shit, as Gilbert so eloquently put it.  If the towers spread the energy, then you really only need one solid burst of it and everyone _should_ wake up.”

“An interesting theory,” Francis said, “but you’re assuming that he can just undo everything.  I want to believe he can, but…is there such a thing as fixing something this badly broken?”

“I’ve seen it,” Arthur said.  “I’ve seen him fix a man who was broken for two years.  He _can_ do it.  Maybe not on the scale of an entire city but—“

This time Alfred swatted at Arthur.  “Way to have faith in the guy—“

By then Lukas and his crew joined them.  Judging by their pale faces and the cautious way they walked, they’d witnessed the fallen city with just as much horror as the rest.  Lukas shook a little bit but spoke calmly.  “What a clusterfuck…”

Behind him, using his axe like a cane, blade striking sparks across the street with each precarious step, Mathias followed.  He grinned despite it all, though sweat ran down his face and his joints ground out harsh protests.  “Glad I’m not like that anymore,” he said weakly.

Lukas put a hand on his elbow to steady him.

Emil, who had been standing close to his brother, ventured out to poke a fallen man in the face.  He scowled into his glassy eyes.  “This is so weird…”

“I don’t like it,” Berwald said.

“Is anyone _supposed_ to like it?” Emil asked.

“Really, I hadn’t even noticed,” Lukas responded coolly. 

Shaking his head, Francis pulled Antonio to one side, whispering quietly, “So, you think we should attempt something like this?”

“We can’t just leave them here,” Antonio said, “It’d be like…indirect murder or something.”

Lovino took a few tentative steps forward.  He was weak and shaking and overtired, but when he concentrated he could draw up the power he needed.  “Well…let’s just get this shit over with…so I can go home and sleep…”

Antonio ruffled his hair gently, smiling weakly.  “That’s the spirit, my friend.”

Keeping a tight hold of his lover, Gilbert pulled the wrapped food from his jacket pocket.  “First, I want you to eat.  You can’t save the city on an empty stomach.”  When Lovino turned his face away, Gilbert prodded the bread against his lips until he begrudgingly took a few bites.

It was dry and bitter in his mouth.  His stomach heaved with disquiet, but he held it down.  Once he’d managed half the bread, he shook his head and clamped his lips into a tight line. 

Gilbert put the bread away again.

“I’m thinking we should test it out,” Alfred said with a quiet snap of his fingers.  He’d been staring intently at a few kids, dressed in little smocks that were dirtied from lying in the streets.  “Make sure there are no surprises.”

“Why would there be surprises?” Arthur asked.

Alfred shrugged.  “You don’t send a plane out on a mission before you make sure it works really damn well,” he said.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Lovino said.  “I can…I can test it.”

He chose a young woman who was still writhing, foam spilling from the side of her mouth but eyes closed.  When Lovino knelt by her, frantic breaths quickened through gritted teeth.  She did not respond when he tapped her forehead.

Looking to Gilbert for reassurance, Lovino pushed some of his power through her, unaware of how the two crews clustered a tight circle around him. 

She gasped like a diver coming to the surface, her hand shooting out to grab Lovino by the ankle.  Startled, he fell to his ass and scooted away, unable to kick her away as her nails plunged deep into his skin.

“Holy fucking _shit_ , calm the fuck _down—“_ Lovino yelped.

Her hand went limp.  He scrambled to his feet.

“G-get up,” Lovino said.  “You—you’re fine.”

At first she didn’t respond, but then she started to climb upright with jerky motions, one after the other in unnatural succession.  She was awake and her eyes were open, but with an icy chill, Lovino realized she wasn’t aware of him.  Pale eyes stared beyond him.  Her face was like a mask.

Snapping his fingers in her face produced no results.  She didn’t even blink.

“I—what the hell—“ Lovino backed away until he found his shoulders pressed into Gilbert’s chest.  Gilbert stared at the woman from behind him but wrapped his arms around Lovino.

“Something’s not right,” Gilbert said.

“No shit,” Lovino muttered back. 

“Zombie?” Emil asked.

“How come his powers worked on Mathias but not this woman?” Tino asked.  He narrowed his eyes at Mats as if gauging the likelihood that he, too, was a zombie.  “…Unless…”

Mathias raised a brow, nonplussed, and pushed Tino’s face in the other direction.  “Don’t even suggest something creepy like that…”

Feliciano slowly raised his hand.  “I think I know why…”

Silence clung to the circle as Feliciano licked his lips.  “There was enough of Mathias left…to fix, even when my brother’s powers were limited.  So it was like…healing a scratch.  I think this case, because the dose of my powers were so…intense…this is more like repairing someone whose heart was sliced to bits.”

“I didn’t need that mental image,” Abel said. 

Ludwig looked a little green as well.  He coughed a little.  “Are you saying that the damage is irreversible?”

Feliciano stared at the ground.  “I don’t know…”

Arthur stepped forward to peer into this woman’s eyes.  He circled her once then returned to Alfred.  “On the contrary, I’d venture to guess...that Lovino is too powerful now.”

“What?” Gilbert asked.  “If that were the case, then repairing her would have been easy for him.”

“I’m just thinking about those robots,” Arthur said, “How he controlled them.  They didn’t need personalities to follow orders…what if this is…what happens when he reanimates someone who has been completely broken.  Maybe he fixed them _too_ much…in a less than ideal fashion.”

Lovino tasted bile.  “I don’t like this…”  Still, he took a step forward but motioned for the rest to clear a path.  They parted so that he could lead the woman step by step out of the circle.  “S-sit at that table,” he said.

She obeyed, like any machine would.

“I…really don’t like this,” Lovino repeated.  He was hardly aware of Gilbert’s fingers running through his hair.

The soldier pressed a kiss to the back of his head, “Me neither…”

“Now what?” Antonio asked.

“I say we steal what we can and set the islands on fire,” Abel said.  “Can’t leave it a ghost town.”

Antonio frowned deeply.  “It doesn’t seem right.”

“Life isn’t always fair,” Abel responded.

“Let’s just…get back on the ships,” Antonio said.  “Get a good night’s sleep because we’re all exhausted, then figure out just what to do.”

“At some point, you’ll have to decide that it’s not your fault or your business,” Abel added, though he started off toward the ship, raising a hand without looking back.  “But I’m all for getting some shuteye…”

One by one they started off after him.

Lukas hesitated.  “I’m not keen on walking over bodies across half the town.  Let us stay on your deck tonight.”

Antonio nodded, “It’ll be crowded, but you’re more than welcome.”

With a haughty toss of his head, Abel threw an arm around Belle’s shoulder once they reached the ship and climbed aboard.  “I say later we go scavenging.  The stuff the nobles eat makes our food look like dirt.”

Ludwig and Feliciano were the next pair on board, a few paces behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Feliciano muttered out into the silent town.  He wiped at his eyes and, though they burned, no tears would come.

“Things don’t always go the way we planned,” Ludwig said as he gathered him into his arms.  “Even…the most meticulously laid plans…have unexpected outcomes.”

“Wish the world wasn’t so complicated,” Feliciano answered.  His voice was muffled into his chest.  Though it was hot and the air dense, he shivered.  “Because then stuff like this wouldn’t suddenly happen.”

“The world isn’t clockwork,” Ludwig said, pinching his nose between two fingers as he fought off a headache.  “Maybe that’s for the best.”

Gilbert and Lovino found themselves as the last two stragglers in the town, wandering through eerie silence with only their footsteps tapping against cobblestone and the occasional scrape of wind.  Now that night had fallen, the heavy air pushed the smog out in dirty gusts.

“I’m going to be hacking out carbon for another ten years,” Gilbert complained.  He wiped his sleeve across his face to ease his smarting eyes. 

“Hm,” Lovino grunted.  He stepped over a few bodies, headed toward an alleyway without a word.

Gilbert watched after him, blinking, then jogged to catch up.  He grabbed at the back of Lovino’s shirt, yanking him back only a moment before the other pulled free to continue walking.

“Lovino—the hell are you going?”

“To a tower,” he said.

“I—okay?”  He caught up again, unsettled by Lovino’s emotionless expression.  “Want to tell me why?”

Lovino shook his head with a little shrug.  “Don’t worry about it.  Maybe I just want to be left alone for once, ever think of that?”

“I’m too annoying to leave you alone,” Gilbert said, though the words stung.

He watched as Lovino struggled against the door latch then, rather than picking it, broke it clean off with the hilt of a dagger.  The door swung open with a hoarse groan.  Lovino started up the stairs, swallowed by darkness.

All Gilbert could do was follow.  He took the cramped stairs two at a time, using the rails more for leverage than support.  It was dark but the air was charged.  He felt his hair stand on end, even when he ran a hand through to flatten it.

When he reached the top, he found Lovino seated there, examining a small orb planted in the center.  Above him, the ceiling was just two feet higher than he, domed also but wired with a series of coils.

“This can’t be safe,” Gilbert panted.  “I-if lightening hits this thing, then what?”

Lovino shrugged.  “Just stay out of the way.”

Gilbert opened his mouth but snapped it shut again.  “…stay out of the way from what?”

“Me,” Lovino said.  He stretched his arms out, counting under his breath, then let his back pop as he arched it.  He groaned a bit but climbed to his feet to glance out the window. 

“You’re not making any sense,” Gilbert said.  “You—you sure you’re okay?  Let’s just…get back to the ship, okay?  We already determined that this will not work.  I’d rather the people die like they are than live as machines…”

The edge of Lovino’s mouth tilted up into a little smirk.  He scoffed quietly to himself as he tilted his head to glance back at Gilbert.  “Would you?”

“Yes—“  Moving like a predator, Gilbert came up behind him and captured him into a chokehold so he could drag him away from the conduction sphere.  “Lovino Vargas.  Don’t you dare do something you’ll regret—let’s just get back to the ship like I said earlier.  This is not the solution.”

“Not the original solution,” Lovino said.  “But I like this better.”  He stumbled back with Gilbert’s grip, trying to pry away from his strong arms.  “I will decide their fate.”  He laughed a little to himself, changing tactics; he stopped struggling, but danced fingertips across Gilbert’s wrist.  “Why does it matter to you, darling?”

“Why the fuck do you _think—”_   Goosebumps rose along his skin.  He shook at Lovino then dragged him toward the stairs. 

He froze.

An icy _something_ twisted in his chest like a twisted dagger.  All at once he shoved Lovino away from him, standing over the other as he hit the ground, foot pressed into his chest.  “Where’s Lovino?” he demanded.

 


	21. The Right Mix of Broken and Fixed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, short epilogue to follow. I'll probably continue the steamtalia universe I've created through a few oneshots and a USUK/GERITA centered sequel. Meanwhile, my beta is working on the nordic prequel. eue
> 
> as for immediately? gotta finish my Mertalia story and lurk the kink meme as usual.
> 
> guys, thanks so much for reading and all your encouraging comments an d just sticking with me this long. I can't believe I wrote such a long story, oh my god ;;;

Lovino coughed a bit and adopted the familiar pouting scowl.  “Giiiilbert, you’re _hurting_ me, you asshole—“ 

The words seemed forced.  Unnatural.

Gilbert pressed harder.  “You’re not Lovino—w-who _are_ you?!”

Hardly able to breathe and still slightly winded, Lovino laughed.  It pitched into something crazy.  “An insignificant little whelp who will never use his powers to their greatest potential.  Oh wait, we were talking about me and not Lovino, were we?”

“Don’t you fucking play with me—“

He choked as Gilbert pressed harder.  His chest heaved, but he smiled serenely up at Gilbert.  “He feels it too,” he said simply.

Startled, Gilbert only blinked but did not loosen his hold.  Outside rain pelted the dome then beat against it with sudden deafening intensity.  Thunder grumbled ominous threats from afar as wind howled around the tower.

“Answer me—“ Gilbert finally said.  He removed his grip only to grab Lovino’s body in his hands and shake him by the shoulders until he couldn’t see straight.  “And give him _back_.  Give me Lovino _back_ , whoever the hell you are—“

Dazed, the intruder blinked until he could see straight again.  Mild panic struck his features.  “Isn’t it funny?” he choked, “that you associate these eyes, this nose, and these lips with Lovino?  When really they have nothing to do with him.”

“I said no games—“ Gilbert hissed.

Swallowing, the intruder continued.  It was a struggle to hold nonchalance in his tone.  The albino, desperate and scared, glowered ruthlessly at him, but he doubted he could inflict damage to his lover’s body.

 “I say we start from the beginning,” the intruder said.  “Really it is a complicated set of circumstances, my survival.  I am not sure I understand it myself.”

“Start with a name—“ Gilbert demanded.

“Corrado.”

\--

“You think this place is haunted?” Mathias asked. 

The group was huddled in the berth of the ship, forgoing the limp hammocks for blankets they’d spread out over the floor.  Miraculously they all fit, though they lacked room to stretch.  Mathias took advantage of the circumstances to slump completely over Lukas, who only poked his face once in response, lips set into a line.

Antonio draped his overcoat over his lap and leaned against Francis’s shoulder.  “The town?”

“Yeah—I get the creeps is all,” Mathias answered.

“Me too—“ Alfred agreed.  “Shit, this isn’t conducive to a good night’s sleep.”

Arthur groaned loudly, “Alfred, in order for there to be ghosts, you would need dead bodies.  Don’t be childish.”

Alfred relaxed a little bit.  He burrowed into Arthur’s lap, head against his thigh despite huffed protests from the other.  Eventually Arthur yielded and let him rest there, even stroking through his hair absently as he listened to the wind shriek outside.  The boat swayed just slightly. 

Lukas shook his head fondly at Emil, who had been rocked to sleep by the storm half an hour ago.  He lay sprawled out over Mathias’s coat, features smoothed into something peaceful, his breathing even.  Lukas pet at his hair gently.  Here, snuggled in with the members of his crew—his family—he felt safe and whole for the first time in years.

He glanced over at Mathias and flicked at his temple.  “On the contrary,” he said quietly, voice a low drawl.  “You don’t actually need dead bodies.”

“W-what?” Mathias asked.

“There are spirits who feast upon the bodies of the fallen.  Maybe they’ll possess their bodies.  Send them after you.”

Mathias tried dispelling the tension with an uneasy laugh.  Alfred whimpered in the background.

“N-now you’re just trying to scare me—“ Mathias said.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Lukas said simply.

He dodged Tino’s hat, which would have hit him in the face.  “Hey, give the guy a break,” Tino said.  He looked a little white as well. 

Berwald shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

“Anyway—“ Antonio said, raising his voice, “Has anyone seen Gilbert or Lovino--?”

Feliciano’s head snapped up.  He’d been sinking into an exhausted stupor, caught in Ludwig’s strong arms.  Marcello slept nearby, clutching his gasmask.

“Lovino isn’t here--?”

Antonio shook his head.  He ran a hand through his hair to dispel the recent raindrops and redeposited himself by Francis.  “I just looked above deck and saw no sign of them.  It’s really nasty out.  I don’t want them to be caught out in this.”

Frowning, Abel shrugged.  “They can find shelter in any building that they can break into.”

Antonio didn’t seem convinced.  “True…”

Abel leaned his back against the wall, head thunking into the wood listlessly.  “We can look for him when the storm dies down.”

\--

“Okay—t-then _how_?” Gilbert demanded. 

Corrado quirked a brow at him.  “To repeat myself, I am not sure.  I broke into the house with the intent of collecting the Destroyer to bring the kingdom to its knees.  I must have gotten the two confused, fancy that.”  He shook his head like ‘but what can you do’, mouth still turned up into a bemused smile that twisted Lovino’s features into something completely opposite of him.  Even his voice was silkier, calmer, lower, void of fits of passion and abrasive insults.

The difference unnerved Gilbert.

“I realized my mistake much too late,” Corrado admitted.  “once the Destroyer was on the ground and bleeding, though he certainly avenged himself by destroying my men and me.  I only remember being ripped from my own body.  Lovino here was caught by the blast too, but in defending himself with his own powers, he seemed to have taken an imprint of me with him.”

Gilbert swallowed.  “Okay, well get the fuck out already.”

“Under what consequences?” Corrado asked, “You would sacrifice Lovino to rid the world of me?  You love him; it is really quite sweet how much he loves you back.  You are welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”  He balled his hands into fists so tight that his tendons bulged and knuckles turned white. 

“Introducing you,” Corrado said simply.  “I started to wake up before his powers did, and realized I was in a prison.  I knew I needed to get him out of the whorehouse if I ever wanted to free myself enough to take over, so I lured you in.”

 _\--The strange man in the marketplace—_ Gilbert fought a wave of nausea.

“ The minute his memories came flooding in, I was strong enough to start fighting him.”  He shook his head a little bit, as if in disbelief, “I never imagined he would put up such a fight.  Every second of every day, no matter what games I played with his head.  But it matters no longer.  I have won and I will use his powers to make this world subservient to me alone.  This was never my intended outcome, but I find this more agreeable than simply destroying the kingdom.  In the end…”

With a feral scream, Gilbert hefted up Corrado and slammed him against the wall so hard that he saw stars.  “Give him back!” Gilbert yelled. 

“He’s gone—“ Corrado spat back, digging his nails into Gilbert’s wrist, desperate to pry his hands loose from his neck.  “And you hardly even noticed anything was wrong.  What does that say about you, soldier?”

Gilbert shook his head, face contorted into a snarl, squeezing harder.  “I won’t let you use him for this—“

Corrado started wheezing through clumsy gasps.  Pain blossomed in his chest.  Dots danced in his vision.  He coughed feebly as the world swayed and tilted.  “Stop…”

Through tears and sweat and each heaving sob, all Gilbert could see was the light leaving Lovino’s terrified eyes, trapped body writhing as his lover squeezed the breath out of him.  Startled and aching, he released him and scrambled back.  “Fuck… _fuck_.”

Coughing violently, Corrado clawed his way to the opposite wall, hands to his throat as he struggled for air.  “It’s useless—“ Corrado managed. 

“I’ll just—I’ll just take you to Feliciano—“ Gilbert said, lunging for him again and succeeding in pulling him toward the stairs. 

They fell in a heap down several steps and, grappling for one another, kicked and punched in the darkness of the swaying tower.  Gilbert cracked his elbow with a loud yelp but fought on, even as Corrado sank his teeth deep into his forearm.

“You will not—“

Corrado pulled free only to slip and slam his chin into the steps as Gilbert grabbed him by the leg. 

Gilbert pulled him back down toward him and screamed into his face.  “LOVINO—I know you’re in there.  Fight him.  _Fight him_.”

Corrado screamed back something unintelligible. 

 _Get out_ , Lovino managed.  _This is my body_ —

Corrado screeched from pain, hands shooting to his head, fingers tangling into his hair as he pulled.  The sound was inhumane, like a soul ripping from a body against its will.  “No,” Corrado snarled to no one.  “You will not defeat me—“

“So he _is_ in there—“ Gilbert said, hunched over him so that he straddled his waist, hands tight around Lovino’s wrists as he pinned them above his head.

Corrado writhed and jolted beneath him, screaming and gnashing his teeth.

Gilbert peered into his face, as if he could discern Lovino from Corrado in the flickers of pain across Lovino’s features. 

“Wipe the floor with his ass,” Gilbert growled.  “I know you can.  Lovino Vargas is the bravest, toughest little bastard I know—“

“Gil—“  It came as a strangled sob from Lovino’s mouth—so distinctly _him_ that he might cry—until a sneer ate away the flash of vulnerability in his eyes.  His voice turned hard again. “Clearly this isn’t working—“

Beneath him, glowing white hot under his shirt, the key imprinted across Lovino’s chest, visible through where his shirt was torn.

\--The same key on the spine of the book.

Not Lovino’s afterall but—

Crying out with the realization, Gilbert snatched at it, yanking the chain clear off of him.  It seared into his palm but he held tight to it.  “I figured it out—“ he snarled down at Lovino/Corrado.  “I figured out where you’re actually hiding—“

Lovino slumped down, head lulling to the side as his eyes fell shut.

Danger passed, Gilbert collapsed beside him, head against his shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath and calm the pounding of his heart.  He shook his head, half sobbing, blindly reaching to stroke Lovino’s hair.  “I’m sorry…It’s over now though…it—it’s over…”  He whined a little bit, adrenaline ebbing away to the pain of scrapes and cracked elbows, his arm bleeding where Corrado had bitten him.  “Goddamn…I should have—to think you were _living_ …like that.  Fighting him this whole time…?

“The key…” Lovino groaned.  “Throw it away.  Throw it away…”

All at once Gilbert grew rigid above him.  Disoriented, he shook his head, climbed to his hands and knees, then gripped Lovino tightly by the upper arms to haul him back over the stairs.  “There is more than one way to achieve what I want,” Gilbert said.

“S-shit—“

Battered and bruised and aching in a dozen places, Lovino tried wrenching free of his grip, but only found that he was utterly spent.  His feet skidded backwards across the floor uselessly as he hung his head.  “You still can’t make me use my powers,” he said quietly.

“I can,” Corrado said, tugging the knife from his belt and, tracing the hilt with his thumb, drawing it with a sharp ring of metal.  “Because I hold the difference between life and death for your lover.  So proceed.”  He gestured toward the orb and sat at the little opening in the tower, knocking the door out to let in a little breeze.  He leaned there, dagger to his own neck, hissing a little bit as he pressed in and a few droplets of blood seeped into his collar.

The wind was as harsh as ever, like a cold slap to Lovino’s face.

Maybe the good guys didn’t always win, like Gilbert said.  Maybe you tried your best to save someone and they died anyway, like that village in the plains.

Lovino’s hands hovered over the orb.  As far away as it was, a few static tendrils licked his palms.  He shivered but turned his head.  “The way I see it…is that you’re bluffing,” he finally said.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Corrado purred.

“You kill your vessel and…you can’t do anything.  You’re stuck in a key.  I’d—I’d make sure the damn thing got burned up in the fires of hell or the next hottest thing.  Then you’re gone forever.”

“You’d really sacrifice your lover?” Corrado asked.

Lovino’s heart hammered within his chest, a caged animal desperate to tear free.  Slowly, he nodded.  “If—If given a choice, between…between saving a shitload of people and saving himself…I know that…Gilbert would choose to save the people.  Doesn’t—doesn’t matter what I want.  Or what he wants.”  His voice was torn with effort it took not to cry.  “So just drop the dagger already.”

“It seems we are at a standstill,” Corrado answered.  “An unnecessary one, if you were to ask my opinion.”

“Good thing I don’t give a fuck about what you think,” Lovino hissed.

Corrado pressed the knife deeper.  Dark red bloomed along the thin cut and ran down the bulging tendons of his neck.

Lovino turned away, unable to watch, but backed away from the orb.  “You can’t make me do it,” he said.

Corrado hissed in pain, “There are ways to torture Gilbert without killing him.  Would you really see him live a life of pain?  Hardly a life at all.”  He skimmed the tip of the dagger down Gilbert’s arm and positioned it over the wrist.  With a neat little flick, he drew blood there.  The pain he felt was betrayed by a quiet tremor and a sheen of cold sweat.

“I don’t know what’s happening here but—it seems a bit fucked up—“

Both wheeled around at a voice so dangerously low and sharp that it cut through the tension and only amplified it.

“T-Tonio—“ Lovino breathed.  “He—he’s—“

Corrado shook his head frantically, adopting a hurried, scared tone.  “We both know full well that Lovino was hearing a voice in his head.  He’s possessed.  He turned on me.”

Axe in front of him, tilted forward, Antonio hesitated.  He looked from Lovino to Gilbert.  “How about you both put down your weapons,” he finally said.

Lovino put his hands behind his back, but saw from the corner of his eye that while Corrado lowered his dagger, he kept the blade pressed against the inside of Gilbert’s wrist.

“All the way—“ Antonio barked.  “Do not test me—“

The dagger clattered to the floor.

“Now,” Antonio said, voice punctuated by the rap of his feet as he paced, axe lowered to his side.  “Here is what I’m thinking.  I’m thinking that one of you is lying.”

“No fucking _shit_ —“ Lovino said. 

He snapped his mouth shut at Antonio’s dangerous glower, the corners of his mouth turned down into something ominous. 

The staircase below them rattled and shook.  Feliciano poked his head through the trapdoor, followed by Marcello. 

With an idle wave of his hand, Antonio warned them to stand back.  Ludwig, beneath and out of sight, protested at the sudden halt.

“Are they up there?” came his booming voice.

“Antonio was right—“ Feliciano said, “Just, wait there, okay?”

“Should I grab reinforcements?”

“If you want,” Feliciano said.

Antonio turned on his heel and peered down into Lovino’s eyes.  When he spoke, his voice was low and his lips barely moved.  “Lovi, tell me how I should approach this.”

Lovino about melted with relief.  He watched Corrado from the corner of his eye, responding in just as soft a voice.  “The key.  Feliciano needs to break it.  Quick—“

Corrado had been sidling down toward his dagger once Antonio’s back was turned.  He lunged forward.

Antonio wheeled around, axe hissing through the air.  Metal struck metal.  The dagger went spinning from Corrado’s hand and glanced harmlessly off the wall.

Using the distraction, Lovino ducked beneath Antonio’s arms and bowled into Corrado so forcefully that both his elbows slammed into the floor.  He yowled from pain and struggled, but Lovino slammed his fist into his face then grabbed the key from around his wrist, yanking til the chain shattered into broken bits.

The energy nearly stunned him.

He flung it across the floor.

It skittered toward Antonio’s feet.

Lovino screamed when the other knelt down to pick it up.

Antonio halted.  “What do we do with it then?” he asked.

Breathing too heavily to answer, Lovino signaled for him to back away then slumped over top of Gilbert.  The other started to shift again, half sitting up to put a hand to his head, pain dumping on him all at once.

“God _damn_ —“ Gilbert moaned.  “I feel so fucking violated right now…”

He grunted when Lovino threw his arms around him, shaking his head into his neck.  “Just shut up,” the thief mumbled.  “Just shut up and be Gilbert.”

Gilbert reached up trembling hands to hold Lovino to him, fingers, bloodied, passing through his hair.  “You got it, boss.”

Antonio wasn’t impatient so much as anxious, staring at the innocuous looking key as if it would rear up and strike.  “Lovino…what did you want me to do with this?”

Lovino turned just enough so that he could see Antonio from over Gilbert’s shoulder.  “Feliciano needs to destroy the hell out of it.  W-without touching it.  Then Corrado can’t—can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Corrado?” Antonio asked.  “You had a dead man in your head all this time?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Lovino groaned. 

Feliciano finally crawled up from the trap door to stand over the key.  Hands stretched out with palms face down, he sighed deeply, severing the bonds between the atoms of the metal til it melted away to nothing.  Corrado’s spirit, he ripped apart like fraying fabric.  “There,” Feliciano said.

“It—it’s over?” Lovino asked, climbing to unsteady feet.

Feliciano nodded, “Yes.”

“But all those people—“ Lovino protested.  “They don’t deserve to die, no matter what or who they are…”

Gilbert remained on the ground.  “You and Feliciano were given these powers.  There has to be a way that one of you could…unfuck this shit up.”

Marcello hesitated, but spoke in a quiet voice, “It’s worth trying _something_ right?”  When he was ignored, he coughed.

Both the Vargas brothers stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. 

“Who are you?” Feliciano asked.

Marcello’s face fell with a long sigh.  “I’m your…brother?  I think?”

Lovino clapped a hand to his face and shook his head.  “Oh hell no.”

Feliciano mirrored Lovino’s actions.  “Lovino is the one with memory loss not me, and I sure don’t remember you…”  He pursed his lips but stepped forward, taking Marcello’s face in his hand to tilt his head up and down, peering into his face.  Perturbed, he released Marcello.  “You do look like us…but I really don’t know that I’ve ever met you before.”  There was no denying the odd sense of _déjà vu_ prickling along the back of his head, almost as if he’d witnessed this scene as a different person at a different time. 

Gauging Lovino’s puzzled expression, the other felt the same way. 

Marcello shrugged, hand at the back of his neck though he was determined to remain cheerful.  “Well…it was just my best guess!  I just knew I had brothers, but I was really young.  And…I remember stories about the _incident_ , but I was too young to remember.  I lived with a relative until I decided to make my own life and track you guys down.  It kind of all adds up, anyway.”

Gilbert leaned back against the wall, where he could feel the charged air seep through the open panel.  He was grateful for it.  Between flashes and hot and cold and the surge of weakness through his aching limbs, at least the wind soothed at his uneasiness.  Head pounding, he had no patience for the Vargas brothers’ conversation, so he glanced over at Antonio.  “How did you—how did you find us?”

Antonio pointed to where he was standing.  “I saw the back of your head from way up there.  Not to mention a lot of crashing and banging.”

Gilbert nodded a little bit, “You’re a good ally.  Thanks.  For everything.”

“Ally,” Antonio mused, dropping and raising either outstretched palm as if weighing something invisible, “Friend.  Family.”  He shrugged.

Gilbert smiled in spite of himself.  “Been going at it alone so long, that I’m just not used to people having my back.”

“I know the feeling,” Antonio admitted.  “It’s good to have people to rely on.  To be relied on.  Cover each other’s weakness and sappy stuff like that.”  He shook his head, laughing to himself, brows raised, hands still akimbo.  Then, rubbing at his head, he joined Gilbert and started to dab at the blood dropping from his neck.  “You’re a mess, by the way, my friend.”

Gilbert scoffed, “I’m sure.”  He turned his attention back to the squabbling brothers, who were still working their way through their awkward reunion, trading stories and testing the other’s knowledge.  “Glad I don’t have to go at it alone.  None of this would have been possible without the all of us, really.  Even if it was a giant clusterfuck every step of the way, we all… _did_ it.  We killed that asshole of a king and lived to tell the tale.”

“Stories to tell the grandchildren,” Antonio said.  “Because now you’re free to settle down with Lovino, adopt kids if you want, sit on a porch and grow old and shake your cane at kids running all over your lawn.  Let Alfred and his friends deal with the backlash.  You deserve a rest.”

Gilbert nodded.  “Didn’t plan on getting caught in the middle of a political free for all, to be honest.”  He ducked his forehead into his hands.  “But first we have to figure out what to do about Volare.  We really cannot leave it like this.”

Marcello looked between his two brothers.  “I was just going to say…that we should at least make an attempt.  There’s nowhere but up from here, right?”

“We?” Lovino asked, one brow raised.  “You saying you got some kind of power too?”

Marcello shook his head quickly then, gnawing his bottom lip, stared at the ground, discouraged.  “I guess not.  I just wanted to be useful is all…”

Feliciano reached over to touch his elbow in quiet reassurance.  “You can still help us brainstorm.”

Marcello seemed to brighten at this.

Lovino gnawed at the skin around his nails, then moved to picking at the hem of his shirt where a few strands had separated.  He spoke in a mumble.  “Well, if Feliciano broke shit too much, and I fix shit too much, then how the hell are we supposed to _anything_.  He can’t just break the broken to make it unbroken…”  He shook his head with an uneasy snort, hand at his neck.  “And I can’t fix shit without making them zombies.  I guess it makes _sense_ , like there’s nothing to build off of.  Not like I know anything about these fucked up powers and their dumbass rules.  Why couldn’t it have been super-strength or super-speed?”

“You can’t like half fix them?” Marcello asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Lovino said.  “Maybe when I was weaker, but now it’s like FUCK YOU.”

Feliciano blinked but nodded.  “Something like that…”  He put his hands onto his head and glanced around for Ludwig as if seeking out support.  Unfortunately, Ludwig had made himself scarce, but the scuffing of feet on the stairs meant he was waiting down below still.  Instead he leaned against Lovino.  He, too, frayed the end of his shirt with deft fingers, as anxious as he was.  “Maybe if there was a way for Lovino and me to use our powers _together_ or something.  Like…half fix half break them.  Would that return them to normal?”

“Well shit, if something like that was _possible,_ then maybe,” Lovino said.  “Assuming that shit doesn’t just cancel each other out.”

Marcello marched up to them, taking both their hands to yank them down from their shirts.  “Your fidgeting is making me nervous—“ he said.

Feliciano jumped a little, gaze flickering up, jaw set with irritation.

Their eyes met.  Feliciano felt his energy surge then immediately ripped his head to one side, breathing heavily.  “S-shoot, I’m sorry—“

Marcello released his hand, brows knit but otherwise fine.

“I-I get anxious then I hurt people—“ Feliciano mumbled.  The colour seeped from his cheeks.  “Knee-jerk reaction.”

“I’m…fine,” Marcello said, blinking softly.  “Was whatever you did supposed to hurt?”

Feliciano glanced up again, “I—yes.  I mean not on _purpose_ but I’m sort of clumsy with my powers when I’m stressed out—which I am—“

Marcello shrugged.  “Oh.”

Gilbert finally looked up from where he’d been zoning out, seeing the brothers but not really acknowledging their conversation until Feliciano’s voice rose in panic.  “Wait,” Gilbert said, stepping forward.  “Maybe it’s just that your powers don’t affect him.”  The gears turned in his head as he tapped his fingers up and down across his own folded arms, as if mapping out and sorting through information.  “Marcello,” he finally said.

Marcello stood at attention.  “Yeah?”

“Earlier you were able to make Lovino heal himself.”

Marcello nodded slowly.

Gilbert leaned forward a bit.  “How did you do that?”

Mouth open, Marcello shrugged, palms up as he shook his head.  “I’m not really sure,” he admitted, “I just—it made sense to do that for some reason.”

Feliciano snapped his fingers.  “Wait—I think I know what you’re getting at.”

Lovino only stared.  “…What?”

“The mixing,” Feliciano exclaimed, “To mix things, you need a third container, right?  If my powers won’t hurt Marcello there and he can redirect energy, then we can use him.”

Lovino processed this a moment.  “How the hell do you know something like that will even work?  Probably fuck him up.”

Both brothers stared at Marcello.

Marcello thought long and hard.  “Well, I’d take that risk,” he said simply, gesturing out toward the window.  “I mean, I have a family down there.  Maybe not my original one, but people I sought out after my aunt turned out to be a horrible person.  I don’t want to live in a world where they aren’t, even if it means risking my life to save them.”

Feliciano nodded.

Lovino glowered at the orb, hands folded in front of him as if making a point not to touch the offending structure.  “So how the hell is this supposed to work?”

Marcello took his place near his brother.  “I don’t really know, but I’m thinking that you two are going to have to hit me with everything you’ve got.  I’ll…try to mix it and put it through the amplifier.  Like I said, it’s only up from here, right?”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Lovino scoffed.

Feliciano nodded a bit.  “A little bit…”

Gilbert, who had slumped down against the floor, flicked at the handle of his dagger.  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”  He pulled a weary smile for Lovino.  “You’ll do great.  It’ll be great.”

Finally Ludwig popped his head up through the trap door.  He lingered there, awkwardly, at about foot level, unable to even look at Gilbert for the guilt that consumed him for crimes almost committed.  “Can I be of assistance?” 

Marcello shook his head.  “No, I think we’re good, but thanks for asking!”

Lovino prodded his arm, “Don’t be nice to that bastard.”

Ludwig simply sighed but hesitated.  “Feliciano?  Be careful, yes?”

Feliciano nodded once.

Ludwig retreated again.

Marcello strode over to his two brothers, getting a grip around their elbows to pull them forward.  They stutter-stepped up to the orb, hovering precariously over it until they regained their balance.

“Will it—will it be safe to be in this tower when this happens?” Gilbert asked, scooting over to the panel and reaching up to pull it closed.

“I hope so,” Antonio said, “But I can’t see it being any safer outside it either, to be honest.  Hopefully the crew will go unharmed.”  Rubbing at his head, Antonio slid down the wall beside him.  “I guess all we can do is wait and see at this point.  No one can say that we didn’t at least make a valid attempt.”  He stared blankly ahead a moment, then opened his mouth with a little gasp.  “But it’ll be a mess when they wake, all collapsed on the streets like that.  We should tell Ludwig to report back to the ship and get everyone in position to start ushering people to their homes.  It’d prevent some of the chaos, at least.”

Gilbert grunted in agreement then gestured to Feliciano, “You tell him.  I’m not in the mood to look at him right now.”

Ludwig’s voice echoed out below.  “I already heard.  I’ll take care of it immediately.”  The staircase rattled as he descended.

“Okay,” Feliciano said, a resigned sigh caught in his expression.  “Let’s try this.”

Marcello gestured for them to place their hands on either of his shoulders and, once they had, placed both his on the orbs.  “Just…push as much power as you can through me.  Don’t worry too much about it, I can handle anything you dish out!”

“If you say so…” Feliciano said.

The three closed their eyes.

There was some obvious straining, mostly on Lovino’s part, the three standing as if caught in a bubble, grips tightening, teeth grinding.  Marcello, most of all, seethed with agony, a little whimper escaping his throat in the five seconds before he shot the amalgamation of power through the orb and it lit with visible electrical energy which tongued the outer shell of the tower.

Gilbert and Antonio ducked flat on the floor, barely missing one that singed the air just inches where they’d been sitting.

The whole of the tower was alight with this energy and the tang of burning metal.  The brothers did not move.  Outside, even the storm held its breath as the energy surged down the wires through the streets of the city, jumping up subsequent towers to light them like hundreds of suns.

Below, Ludwig glanced up at what looked like a knot of lightning tangled between the towers, then continued running.  He tripped over a few bodies, skinning his palms, but rolled, scrambled to his feet, and continued his sprint.  He delivered the news quickly, in short bursts.

The crew tumbled from the boat into what was once night, now lit brighter than day as steam rose from heating streets.  Around them, people started to shift, gradually seeping into consciousness, sitting up to hold their heads or check loved ones.

“Help as many people as you can—“ Ludwig barked out, running to kneel beside a little girl and her mother.  He questioned them quickly and efficiently to gauge their level of consciousness and autonomy.  “What are your names?”

The mother shifted her coat tighter and struggled to focus her eyes on the soldier.  Fear melted away when she recognized the uniform.  “Katyusha Braginskaya.  This is my daughter.”  Then, pulling her child to her side, she climbed to her feet, wobbling until Ludwig reached a hand out to support her.

He nodded once, “Do you know how to get home from here?”

She looked around to gauge her surroundings and nodded.  “Did something happen?”

Ludwig shook his head, “A powerful lightning storm overrode the town’s power system.  A lot of people were very temporarily disoriented.  Please find your home as quickly as possible.”

He waited until the woman and child rushed away before moving on to the next set of people.  The rest of the crew worked tirelessly alongside him, members disappearing down alleyways to seek out new people.

Abel stood on top of a table in a crowded bar and shouted directions, hurling his shoe at a man who tried to scream back at him.

“I don’t give a fuck that you’re confused as hell.  Don’t cause trouble,” Abel said.

Belle helped them find the door, thanking them quietly for their cooperation.

Marcello released the orb once he was completely spent, the other two brothers wheezing and trembling as they dropped their hands from his shoulder.  Lovino was the first to speak.

“Did…it work?”

Finally daring to move now that the lightning had fizzled out, Gilbert threw the compartment open again to look.  “I see movement!” he exclaimed, jumping up and down.  “Lots and lots of movement!”

Feliciano nearly fainted from relief, finding the metal floor with his face but not quite succumbing to unconsciousness.  “Thank god…I thought I had—I thought it was going to…”  He sighed and closed his eyes.

Antonio scooped him up into his arms with a fond little smile.  “So how in the world did that work when Feliciano broke them dead and Lovino fixed them into zombies?”

Nearby, Marcello fell heavily to his knees, “Don’t ask me.  I just made the right mix of broken and fixed and prayed to every freaking deity I could think of that I wasn’t messing things up worse.”

“I guess it was a good combination,” Gilbert managed.  He was in no condition to carry Lovino, but he found that he could support him well enough with an arm around his shoulder.  “Let’s go find our crew and figure shit out.”

Lovino nodded, “And nap.  Oh god, I just want a fucking nap.”

Kissing him softly, Gilbert helped him down the stairs as best he could.  “When we get to the ship, you can take the longest fucking nap the world has ever seen.  Provided it’s just an hour.  Because I need attention.”  For effect, he jutted his lower lip out and fake whimpered.

This only earned him a slap to the chest, though Lovino did not move away.

They navigated the crowd, urging those just climbing to their feet to find their homes as soon as possible.  Halfway, they met up with Lukas, Mathias, and Tino, who were helping bandage a sprain on one man.  Tired from half an hour of working, Mathias slumped over onto an empty table at a nearby café.  He found a plate of half-eaten beef and started to pick at it.  Nearby, Abel was stuffing more bread into his pocket, not looking at the woman he was advising, though Belle held her by either arm and spoke calmly to her.

Elizabeta emerged from an alleyway, clapping her hands together.  “There are a _lot_ of people.  And I can only imagine what’s going on with the other Tiers.”  She allowed Marcello to sag into her, patting at his back, confused but not terribly concerned.  “So, you guys did it!”

“Yeah,” Lovino managed.  “We did.”

Marcello cried out, sprinting past the group, hurdling over a table, then tumblerolling into a group of street urchins that emerged from one of the alleyway.  The girl, a leader, rubbed her head, ashen, and clutched at the younger among them.  He thudded into her with a tight hug.  The group chattered loudly.  Marcello glanced back at the pirates and half waved, mouthing a silent goodbye as we went to tend to his family.

“Didn’t know a place like this _had_ homeless kids,” Antonio  mused.

Elizabeta, now free, flicked him on the head as hard as she could.  “You are _not_ taking them in.”

Lukas slumped into the chair near Mathias and also picked at the food there, one eye on the kids.  “Reminds me of us when we were kids.  All of us.” 

“Getting all nostalgic on me, Lukas?” Mathias grinned.

“What’s it to you?” Lukas asked.

Mathias only leaned back, sighing deeply.  He lacked the strength to swing his legs up onto the table, like Lukas detested, so he draped himself over the backrest of his chair, head flopped over backwards.  “So,” he said not looking up, “Looks like our work here is done.  Where to next, do you think?  What trouble can we get up to?”

Lukas smiled in spite of himself.  “Figure something out.”

Berwald, Emil, and Tino joined them.  Emil, exhausted as he was, collapsed against his brother, only making a half-assed attempt at slapping his hand away when the other bunched his hair into a little ponytail. 

“A long vacation?” Tino offered. 

“Talked to Antonio,” Berwald muttered, “Said he was staying here.  Going to help Alfred establish a government.  Is a good cue to leave.”

“You said it!” Tino said, “All that political stuff is too complicated for simple pirates.”

“I would make a damn good President, though,” Mathias said.

“In your dreams,” Lukas muttered.  “Even Emil would be a better leader.”

Emil grunted his displeasure but could not move.

“Baby brother is too exhausted to argue,” Lukas said simply.

“Fuck you,” Emil managed.  He did not complain when Lukas scratched gently at his scalp.

“Brain-eater is starving,” Lukas said, tone dry, wriggling his fingers as if his hand was trying to devour his head.  

Emil groaned long and hard, “Your sense of humor sucks.”

Berwald yawned a little.  “Let’s return to the ship.”

The rest agreed silently, moving to pick themselves up so they could drag themselves home.

“Let’s fly somewhere really nice this time,” Tino said.

They nodded.  Tino turned to Tonio with a wide smile on his face.  “We’ll meet again soon, I am sure.  Consider yourselves honorary members of our family.”

“Try not to be too depressed about it,” Emil said.

Lukas poked his forehead.  They started to walk.

Tonio watched as they left, winding down the trail of the city between flickering electric lights positioned overhead.  Thousands of fireflies bobbed and swayed behind them.

He scratched at his hair and let out a long breath.  “Well?” the pirate said, rounding up his own crew.  He shifted Feliciano awkwardly in his arms.  “I suppose we go back to our own ship and get a good night’s rest.”

Alfred dug into his good eye with the palm of his hand, yawning heavily and staggering beneath the weight of fatigue until Arthur grabbed him around the waist to support him.

“Tomorrow we have a big day ahead of us,” Arthur mused.

“Setting up a system to put a new government into play,” Alfred agreed, “S’gonna be hard.”  He swayed a bit.  “Will be fun.”  Finally his head thudded over into Arthur’s shoulder.  “Then Arthur can take me on the date he promised me.”

“Only if you don’t end up causing rioting and anarchy,” Arthur chided, pinching him a little until he straightened up again.

“That wasn’t the deal,” Alfred protested, though he allowed Arthur to start walking him toward the ship. 

Gilbert watched them a moment, then caught up to Antonio, Lovino still in tow.  Lovino hugged Antonio and Feliciano in one embrace, unable to form words.  “Well fuck,” he finally managed.

“You need sleep,” Feliciano said.

Gilbert reached over to ruffle Feliciano’s hair.  “So do you, kiddo.”  He glanced back at Antonio, falling into line with his stride as he led the slow march back to his own ship.  “So, Antonio.  Lovino and I probably won’t stick around for much more than a day or too.  We want to begin a life somewhere.”

Antonio nodded, “That sounds reasonable,” he said, “I would only ever wish you well, and request that you visit.”

Gilbert nodded in earnest.  “I’ll send Gilbird over with the coordinates as soon as we’ve found a place.  You can be sure of it!”

“Good!” Antonio said.  He paused as a tall, square figure appeared from the other side of a little park of blooming trees. 

Gilbert looked away, unsure of how he wanted to react to his brother.  There was just too much to process.  It would be a talk for another day, he reassured himself.  In the end, his brother had his respect, but he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to forgive.  He fell back with Lovino as the soldier approached.

Ludwig rushed up to intercept Antonio.  He took Feliciano into his arms, allowing his head to lull onto his shoulder.  “I will never cease to be amazed by any of this,” he said quietly to the exhausted man. 

The rest of the group filtered around him like a stream around a rock.

Feliciano was grateful for the warmth of strong arms and the promise of rest.  He let his eyes slip closed.  “I did the world good for once…”

Ludwig leaned over just enough to kiss his forehead, lips soft but lingering.  “Don’t assume you’ve never done good, please, Feliciano.  You’ve made me a better man just by existing.”  He started to walk the opposite direction, until the murmur of voices and the shifting of recovering people died down into the quiet rumble of retreating storm clouds.

“Where are we going?” Feliciano finally asked.

“Grounded Tier,” Ludwig said, “Somewhere to begin again.  We made plans we never thought possible.  Let’s make the most of our freedom.”

“Can’t say goodbye?” Feliciano asked.

Ludwig sighed but shook his head, “You and your brother will reunite again, I am sure, but my brother and I…probably won’t be able to make amends.  He’s…been hurt in a way that might not be reparable.  I would never force forgiveness from him, and I do not wish to pressure him.”

“In the end…you came through,” Feliciano protested, though he did not struggle.  He let the gentle jolt of Ludwig’s steps soothe him.  “He knows that.  You can’t just run away from your problems.  This isn’t…like you.”

“It’s a strategic retreat.  He will be resentful of me for a long time,” Ludwig said.  “Sometimes there is no easy fix.  Sometimes there’s no fix at all.  The two of us must keep marching forward, as he will do.  Let us begin our lives again.”

Feliciano nodded a little bit.  He fought hot tears, choking back a few sobs.  “I understand.”

Ludwig came upon the air taxi, docked beyond the iron fence.  There were no men guarding it there, having run in panic upon waking.  He was able to unlock the fence and board the craft, taking his place at the wheel, Feliciano still curled in his lap.  Before he wound up the engine, he reached a trembling hand to stroke his lover’s hair.

“It’ll be okay,” Ludwig promised, “When everything is said and done, you can seek out your brother again.”

Feliciano nodded.  He tensed as the craft lurched forward.

Ludwig, as calm as ever, slowly lowered it down, down, down.  It hissed with the release of steam.

Finally, as they came upon the Grounded Tier, Feliciano spoke again, “You will seek your brother out again one day too.  You’ll never not be brothers.  Just give it time.”

Ludwig docked it inside the city.  It bumped gently into the ground.  “I will let him do the seeking.  I cannot be the one to decide that it’s okay.  It’s not a luxury that will ever be mine.”

“Time heals all wounds,” Feliciano murmured, crawling up against him to massage at his shoulders.

Ludwig’s head lulled to one side as he raised up his shoulders, groaning as the other worked out the knots along his neck.  “In theory,” he said.  “Let’s figure out our lives now.  Together, if you’d like.”

And then, as they stepped out into the quiet streets of the Grounded Tier, with its winding cobblestone roads and low-walled open-houses with the vines spilling out, a Prisoner and a Soldier found their new beginning.

And on the ship on the Second Tier, wrapped into each other on a shared cot, an Ex-Soldier and Thief would wake the next morning to a world brimming with possibility.

 


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short epilogue b/c I had to make the babies happy after putting them through so much. 
> 
> Gilbert you eloquent little fuck.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and wow it feels weird that this is posted. I...kind of want to cry???
> 
> ANYWAY, this is farewell for now, until the sequel. 
> 
> In the words of Sky High: THANKS AND THANKS AGAIN.

Some amount of time later, an Ex-Soldier and an Ex-Thief woke to the chatter of children just outside their cottage.  Lovino’s first move was to bend over Gilbert, kiss his forehead, and fling the covers over on top of his face.  His lover groaned and kicked them away in the still warmth of summer.

Sighing happily and filled to the brim with the peace that mid-morning cuddling brought, Lovino padded off to his kitchen to open the little window just above his water basin.  In spilled petunias and peonies planted in the window box, masked barely by the sway of a sheer curtain in the fresh breeze.  The floor creaked quietly as he walked, lending character to his sense of quiet as he pulled the dough from a bowl, upended it onto a stone, and clicked on the igniter for the stove.

He fanned at the flames and kindled them into something fierce, then let them die away into smoldering coals, hot but contained, then shoved the bread in beside, shoving shut and latching the little stove door.

Once he’d finished, Gilbert came behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin against his shoulder.  “Good morning,” he murmured, nuzzling.  “I think you should return to bed.  I want to make out with your face.”  One hand made a circular motion down his thigh. 

Gilbird chirped from his shoulder then hopped onto Lovino’s head to nestle in his curls.

“Great pick-up line,” Lovino scoffed, pinching at his forearm.  “S’too bad that I got shit to do.  Did you know the fucking garden looks like a weed-monster threw up on it?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Gilbert mused without actually asking.  He covered a yawn.  “We picked a good place, though.”

Lovino nodded.  “Well, we made it not shitty anymore.”

It really wasn’t much, just a two roomed paneled cottage, but when the sun came spilling out over the mountaintops and the fresh, cold air came seeping in, every one of Lovino’s nerves tingled with vitality.  Any furniture that they needed, Gilbert had built from the pines growing up around the mountaintop.  He traded those services for other goods within the town, until he could maintain a steady business.  Lovino focused his efforts on growing up a crop to feed them through the winter.

“Get your clothes on,” Lovino said, smacking backwards toward his ass.  “The bread will be done soon, and those little bastards will come barging in the minute they smell it.”

Gilbert could only chuckle, reaching over to the kitchen table to grab the pants he’d left to dry overnight.  He wriggled into them.  “You have yourself to blame.  You fed them in the first place.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Lovino said, waving a hand at him as he readied heavy cloths and a long wooden utensil to scoop the bread from the oven.  He smacked the door shut and set the loaf down to cool.

As predicted, heavy feet stamped along their little porch, knocking over flowerpots, til the door flung open and five kids ten and under piled in, grinning with gaps in their teeth and dirt on their faces and smocks.

“Oi, wash your hands—“ Lovino barked, bustling about to throw out jam that he’d made with last summer’s raspberry crop.  Impatient, he sliced the bread himself and smeared the spread, handing them out.  The kids became increasingly sticky as they ate.

Mouth full, the oldest boy raised his hand.  “There’s a weird man out there to see you.  Came on a ship—“

Lovino cocked his head then looked at Gilbert.  “Antonio--?”

Without awaiting an invitation, Antonio Carriedo stepped in where the door had been left swinging.  He whistled long and low, looking around, then gathered Lovino into a tight hug, kissing either of his cheeks.

“You definitely found the other end of the kingdom—“ he exclaimed with a wide grin.  He shook Gilbert’s hand warmly, other hand clasped overtop. 

“We wanted to get away,” Gilbert said with a shrug.

“Village on a lone mountaintop certainly is away,” Antonio agreed, glancing around again.  He gestured to the squabbling ensemble.  “All these yours?”

Lovino rolled his eyes with a dry laugh.  “Hell no.  They sort of decided they liked this place better than their own damn houses.  Can hardly get them to go _home_.  Should start charging their parents.”  He huffed a bit, but the red tinge on his eartips suggested a lack of actual irritation. 

“It’s probably because you feed them,” Antonio said.

Gilbert nudged Lovino with his elbow.  “Told you.”

Once the last of the lot finished their bread, Lovino shooed them out with the end of a wooden spoon, smacking the last on the back of the head when he didn’t move quick enough.  They laughed and squabbled all the way down the winding path back to the main village.

One last child remained, a severely loved and chewed stuffed bird doll hanging from one fist.  She still chewed her bread, even as Lovino plucked her up into his lap and bounced her on his knee.  “This,” Lovino said, “is ours.”  Little curls, a vibrant auburn, sprung up and down with the movement.  She babbled on to herself.

“They found her wandering through the valley.  Likely abandoned,” Gilbert said.

Antonio’s mouth fell open, and this time he nudged Gilbert, clapping his hands as a smile slowly revealed itself across his face.  “You finally convinced Lovi over there?  Stubborn little abrasive Lovino to adopt a baby?”

“Miracles happen,” Gilbert said.  He knelt down to take the child’s free fist in his hand and waved it at Antonio.  “Mia, say hi.”

She gurgled a little bit.  “Bastard!”  She resumed eating her bread with a little scowl on tiny features.

Gilbert sputtered as Antonio burst out laughing.

Lovino smooched the baby on the cheek and waited for Antonio to calm down before shoving a slice of bread toward him.  As the other ate, he began to question.

“Where _is_ everyone, by the way?”

Antonio chewed carefully.  The crust crunched but gave way to a perfectly light but elastic texture.  “Hm?  Oh—“  He swallowed and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, “Most of us are still pirates, but we work for the new government now—mostly as protection for citizens along travel routes right now.  Currently, the rest of my crew is over in Kayma.  There’s a really awesome summer festival—that I’m actually hoping to take you to if you’re free.  Let me just tell you that they roast an entire pig for it.”

“Sold—“ Gilbert exclaimed.

Lovino nodded, stroking his baby’s hair.

“Marcello and his little gang give us trouble sometimes, but I think a bit of attention is good for them,” Antonio continued.  “And Elizabeta has gone her own way.  Not sure what she’s up to, but I heard something about starting a business in weaponry.  As for that other crew, Mathias is back on his feet.  Ran into them a couple of times.  Definitely a rambunctious, odd sort.  I think they’re technically still renegades, but if only to keep up appearances.”  He laughed a bit, attention captured by the baby’s large eyes and the pure adoration lighting Lovino’s features.

Finally, Lovino looked up, “And…my brother?”

Antonio shook his head, “Haven’t heard from him,” he said.  “Or Ludwig,” he added, looking to Gilbert.

A hint of pain crossed Gil’s face, but he looked away.

“So shit is…going well then?” Lovino asked.

Antonio nodded, “It’s like this country had new life breathed into it.  I mean, there will always be the poor and times will always be a bit tough, but people are able to do something about it now.  Alfred and Arthur have worked to established some kind of democracy, something about Parliament and checks and balances and what have you—“  He shrugged, bemused.  “Or something like that.  It was a rocky start.  We almost lost our footing before we even got started, but things settled down and it’s working out so far.”

Gilbert reached over to give Lovino’s hand a squeeze, stroking at Mia’s arm with his thumb in the process.  “Good,” he said quietly, that same fondness touching his eyes at his family.

Antonio wanted to melt.  “Gosh, you three are adorable.”  He stood so suddenly that the chair skidded back and nearly rocked over.  “It’s settled.  Tell the kids to get breakfast elsewhere for a week or so.  You have a family who wants to see you—“

They set about packing and closing things up.  Gilbert took Mia onto his hip and disappeared into the bedroom to fold up a few blankets and toys for her.  Antonio lightly touched Lovino’s elbow as the other raked his coals into a bucket to burn out.

“So, you’re happy then?” Antonio asked quietly.

He knew the answer before Lovino could even speak.  Gone was the scared, anxious little Thief with nowhere to go and a million questions.  This man was healthy, vibrant, and glowing with rare vitality.  Sure he scowled, but it could not mask the brightness in his eyes or the color in his cheeks.

Lovino nodded quietly, smiling sheepishly as he scuffed at the ground.  “I’ve never been so happy in my life…to be honest.  This is more than someone like me could hope for.”

Antonio smiled quietly.  “You deserve it.”

 


End file.
